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LETTERS 



TO AW 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 



DESIGNED TO RELIEVE THE 



DIFFICULTIES OF A FRIEND 



UNDER 



SERIOUS IMPRESSIONS 



BY T* CARLTON HENRY, D.D. 

Late Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, Charleston, S. C. 



WITH 

AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, 

<In which is presented Dr. Henry's Preface to his Letters, and his Life by 
a Friend.) 

BY G. T. BEDELL, D.D. 

Rector of St. Andrew's Church, Philadelphia* 



PHILADELPHIA: 

KEY 8c BIDDLE, 23 MINOR STREET, 

1833. 



$! 



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Entered according to act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and 
thirty-three, by Key & Biddle, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of 
the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



Printed by J. Crigsyand G. Goodman, 4, Minor street, 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 



There are few among ministerial anxieties 
more intense, than those which relate to the 
proper course to be pursued towards persons, 
in an inquiring state as to the interests of their 
immortal souls. To one in the ministry of 
the everlasting Gospel, whose heart is right in 
the sight of God, there is no difficulty in pla- 
cing out before the people the great plan of 
salvation, and in giving the right proportion of 
doctrinal statement and practical application. 
But when, as a blessing upon the word preach- 
ed, God in his mercy to minister and people, 
sees fit to pour out his spirit, and bring men 
to ask in deep anxiety of soul, "What shall 
we do to be saved?" — it is then, that the real 
difficulties and the painful anxieties of the mi- 
nistry commences. It is easy in private con- 
versation with an inquirer, to explain with 
the most perfect clearness the terms of the 



IV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

Gospel — to state the necessity of repentance — 
to tell him what repentance is — to urge the 
necessity of faith, and to explain its character. 
But these, are the generalities of the Gospel 
which must be urged indiscriminately upon 
all, let the difference be ever so great in the in- 
tellectual or moral character of the individual 
inquirers. The grand difficulty exists, in the 
nice adjustment of the general requirements of 
the Gospel to the shades of individual charac- 
ter. And it is here, judging by our own ex- 
perience, and the experience of many with 
whom we have conversed, that the difficulty 
principally lies. The inquirer will ask, how 
am I to know that the feelings which now 
rise up in my bosom, correspond with what 
the Gospel means by repentance? How am I 
to ascertain whether the emotion which now 
engages me towards the Lord Jesus Christ, is 
faith? How am I to tell whether the new set 
of affections with which I seem to be anima- 
ted, do in reality constitute that change of 
heart, without which no man can see the 
kingdom of God? I am agitated alternately 
with hopes and fears— to deceive myself is 
ruinous — 1 know not how to go on, to recede 
1 dare not — I come to have all my perplexities 
resolved. This at once is almost like throw- 
ing the weight of a human being's eternity 
upon the counsel which shall be given. Im- 
proper encouragement may make an individual 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. V 

a mere formalist for life, and he may there- 
fore, die deceived. If the feelings are re- 
pressed, and the individual left in doubts and 
hesitation, the inquiry may be abandoned, and 
he may fall into a state of entire neglect or 
apostacy. In this situation the temperament 
and moral habits should be understood, in 
order that the truth may be applied with 
the best success; and yet, during the urgen- 
cy of an inquiring state, how is this know- 
ledge to be acquired? Besides this, in a sea- 
son of religious excitement, well understood 
under the title of a revival of religion, it most 
generally happens, that full conversations w T ith 
all who seek instruction can not be expected. 
It is under these circumstances, that some ex- 
perimental treatise which shall assist the mi- 
nister himself, or which may be put into the 
hands of inquirers, becomes truly desirable, 
and will be hailed as a valuable auxiliary to 
the ministerial work. Just such a book we 
apprehend the letters of Dr. Henry constitute; 
indeed, it is one which leaves very little yet 
to be desired. It is true, that there are works 
intended for religious inquirers which, by long 
possession of the public confidence have, as it 
were, already occupied this ground, and our 
remarks on the value of Dr. Henry's letters, 
may seem to detract from the merits of these 
previous efforts. This, however, is not intend- 
ed. EdwardsontheReligious Affections, though 
A2 



VI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

unequalled in some respects, is yet entirely 
too intellectual for readers whose minds are in 
a highly excited state of religious anxiety. 
The individual whose heart has settled down 
in its acceptance of the offers of the Gospel, 
and who does not want his anxieties relieved, 
but his affections animated and increased; and 
who, therefore, has time - to look into the 
depths of Edwards' investigations, may take 
up his book with incalculable profit. But re- 
ligious inquirers in their early state of mental 
anxiety, want instructions which shall be 
adapted by plainness and simplicity, to the 
immediate urgency of their situation. What 
the work of Edwards on the Religious Affec- 
tions may want, will probably be supposed by 
some to be abundantly made up by one of the 
most celebrated, and most useful treatises in 
the English language. We mean, ic Dodd- 
ridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the 
Soul." It is almost impossible to speak too 
highly of this work, the only one well known 
and universally received as standing at the 
head of the class to which it belongs. There 
is no merely human work which has been 
made, by the grace of God, more instru- 
mental in the salvation of sinners, and no 
man can with a clear conscience, or with a 
respect for his own character, detract from 
its reputation. It will probably outlive any 
work which ever has, or ever will be writ- 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Vll 

ten on this subject, because it has a hold 
upon the public mind, which nothing but its 
intrinsic merit could gain, and because it has 
by translations into very many languages, taken 
a start, which would render it impossible for 
any other to outstrip or even to reach it. Af- 
ter these remarks, which are meant to express 
the high veneration which we have for the 
"Rise and Progress," we shall be excused for 
a few observations which may modestly express 
our views as to some deficiencies which char- 
acterize that celebrated work. In investigating 
the subject of conversion, one thing has been 
very much neglected, viz. the necessity of 
taking into account the actual difference which 
exists among individuals, as to their peculiari- 
ties of temperament, their habits, views, feel^ 
ings, opinions, and education. It is beyond all 
question, that these must modify religious ex- 
perience; and yet persons in an anxious state 
jof mind are most generally treated as if con- 
version was a process, which begun and w r ent 
on and concluded in a certain uniform manner. 
Now this is contrary to philosophy and expe- 
rience. In the process of conversion there are 
no two persons operated upon exactly alike, and 
it is for this reason, that religious biography is 
so little useful to anxious inquirers. The life 
may describe an experience, but it may have 
shades so opposite to that of the reader, that he 
conceives himself entirely out of the way. The 



VUl INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

Rise and Progress of Doddridge has about it a 
similar difficulty, excellent as it is. " He 
marks out a single course, a single train of ex- 
ercises, leading to certain results with little 
variation." It is on this precise account, that 
Doddridge's Rise and Progress, valuable as it 
is, is apt to disappoint the expectation of in- 
quirers. We have met with very many per- 
sons into whose hands we have placed this trea- 
tise, and they have returned to us with the 
complaint, that its details did riot correspond 
with the exact condition of their feelings. Un- 
der these circumstances several have been dis- 
couraged, instead of being relieved, because 
finding no correspondence, or very little, in 
their course with that marked out by Doddridge, 
they drew the conclusion that their experience, 
whatever it was, did not assume the character 
of real conviction of sin, or did not amount to 
genuine conversion. And we have found some 
whose minds have been relieved from their 
perplexities by a careful perusal of the " Ser- 
mons on Regeneration," by the same author, 
because these, though not so generally useful 
as the "Rise and Progress," have yet less of the 
evil of which we have here complained. 

It was during a season of religious awaken- 
ing, when the defects connected with the work 
of Doddridge, became more apparent, that the 
Letters of Dr. Henry fell into our hands, 
and was read with peculiar satisfaction, and 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. IX 

placed in the hands of others with the most 
manifestly beneficial consequences. It is pos- 
sible that this may have some influence with 
us in estimating the work as highly as we do, 
and which might not appear to others under 
circumstances less exciting, so valuable as we 
have ventured to pronounce it. But this oc- 
curred at least five years ago, and more deli- 
berate examination has increased, rather than 
diminished our favourable opinion. And we 
are happy to find that there are others, of 
no mean reputation in our country, w 7 hose 
opinions coincide with our own. In a review 
of Dr. Henry's work which we find in the 
Christian Spectator for Nov. 1828, there is the 
following high testimony. "He," Dr. H. 
6i seems to have experienced some of the diffi- 
culties which he describes, and solves. He had 
been much employed as a spiritual guide to 
awakened and distressed sinners, and to doubt- 
ing christians, and it is matter of devout gra- 
titude that the great head of the church, directed 
such a man to put the result of his own thoughts 
and observations upon paper. From the im- 
pressions which we had received of Dr. Hen- 
ry's character, of his strength of intellect, his 
delicacy of feeling, his christian simplicity, 
and the warmth of his piety, we were prepared 
to expect much from his pen : but his letters 
have exceeded our expectations. We consider 
him to have entered a field not hitherto suffi- 



X INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

eiently explored, to have laid open entangle- 
ments and cleared away obstacles which have 
often retarded those who would escape from 
the city of destruction to Immanuel's land, 
and to have erected clearer way-marks at the 
opening of some of those devious paths which 
have conducted bewildered seekers to the gates 
of despair. We trust that these letters will be 
blessed by the Spirit of Grace, not only as the 
means of consolation and strength, but as the 
instrument of saving many from ruin. Dr. H . 
though dead, will long speak to the conscience 
and the heart of the trembling sinner." This 
is high praise, but we regret to say, that the 
last remark of the reviewer, has hitherto been 
frustrated by the fact that the work of Dr. H. 
has been published in too expensive a form to 
be available to the class of readers, whose cases 
it more particularly contemplates, for as "not 
many noble" so, " not many rich, are called" 
into the condition of inquirers. It is only at 
this date, more than six years after the publica- 
tion of the first edition of the work, that per- 
mission has been obtained to present the public 
with a second, in a style which shall insure 
readers, by its cheapness as well as merit, 
and now we confidently look for the reality 
of the anticipation stated in the close of fore- 
going extract. 

As the object of an introductory essay dif- 
fers somewhat in details from a review, we 



author's preface, xi 

shall neither analyze the work, nor present ex- 
tracts. Our desire is to fix attention upon the 
book itself. The reader will gather a more cor- 
rect view of the treatise, by an attentive peru- 
sal of the introductory remarks of Dr. Henry 
himself, which we here present. 

"While the religious public," says the au- 
thor, "have been well provided with Doc- 
trinal and Practical works, and furnished 
with many valuable expositions of the Word 
of God; and while the divine system of 
Christianity itself has been ably defended 
against the cavils of its assailants, it is a 
matter of surprise to many, that a most inter- 
esting department of sacred literature has been 
either entirely neglected, or occupied by re- 
marks of so general a nature as to answer very 
imperfectly the end for which they were de- 
signed. I refer to that department of instruc- 
tion which is suited to the particular exigen- 
cies of a Religious Inquirer, or an awakened 
sinner. 

"There is certainly no state of mind which 
involves more interest in its issue, or presents a 
more imperative claim on our sympathies, or 
brings more effectually into exercise our hopes 
and our fears, than that of the man who has 
been partially aroused from the slumber of spi- 
ritual death, and looks around him with an agi- 
tated feeling, to ask — "what shall I do to be 
saved?" 

"To excite the conscience to at least a momen- 
tary activity, is very often far more easy than 
to meet that class of perplexities and cares to 



xii author's preface. 

which such an excitement may lead. And 
hence we see many who find it no hard task to 
point the penalty of the law to the heart of the 
sinner, and to bring in array before him the 
terrors of an offended God; and yet whose 
whole instructions to one in this interesting 
state, are so vague, and so ill-defined, as to shed 
no light upon his path, and to give him no 
clear conceptions of his real condition. 

"Two things strike an observer of the awak- 
ened sinner, and call for all the prudence and 
caution with which advice or counsel may be 
given: These are— his difficulties and his 
dangers. 

"Among the difficulties of which he is ready 
to complain, is that of the want of something 
suitable to his own peculiar state. We follow 
Apostolical example when we recommend him 
to " believe and repent." But he is not unapt 
to tell us that he requires a more explicit di- 
rection than this. We commend him to prayer 
and the Word of God. But even the effort to 
regard this injunction, he informs us, furnishes 
new cares, and exhibits new obstacles in his 
way. His necessities multiply, and his de- 
mands increase. 

"Now it would be easy to charge much of 
the evil upon himself, and prove to him from 
the economy of grace, and the character of his 
God, that all the fault lies within his own heart; 
and this is a melancholy truth of which we should 
not permit him to lose sight. But he returns 
all this to ask the particular character of the de- 
fault, its causes, and the means of its removal. 

"If we put into his hands any of the valuable 
little treatises which were designed to alarm 



author's preface. xiii 

the unconverted sinner, he may assent to the 
truths they contain; but while his convictions 
are deepened, his personal difficulties are still 
not reached. There is much, very much, 
which remains unexplained; and which, while 
it lasts, multiplies itself: or extends through 
new ramifications, and creates new embarrass- 
ments. And his demand is more importunate 
than ever, for some instruction adapted to that 
idiosyncrasy of character, which he conceives 
to distinguish his present condition. Here is 
an eagerness of appetite w 7 hich disposes him to 
seize, with avidity, on all that bears a remote 
resemblance to the fancied object of his wants. 
And it is to meet this, that any counsel we may 
give, should enter as far as possible into the 
familiarities of the heart. And yet to do so, 
important as it is, requires some further know- 
ledge of the case than we may be able to obtain. 

"Where the inquirer is disposed to present 
the exact state of his mind; and where he is 
able to define his feelings, the plain good sense 
of a private Christian may enable him to say 
all that is necessary. But the inquirer is not 
always willing to do the former; and he is very 
often incompetent to accomplish the latter. 
And yet indisposed, or unable, as he may be to 
do either, his solicitude is not the less to learn 
the grand secret of the causes and remedy of 
his moral disorder. 

"Now if we were unable to meet this whole 
question, there is one thing which it is not out 
of our powor to do — I mean that of furnishing 
to the sight of the sufferer, cases analogous to 
his own; or cases which may possibly strike 
him as similar. 



xiv author's preface. 

"Even where we are at a loss to account, in all 
respects, for the existence of a particular expe- 
rience, we do much for the inquirer by de- 
scribing it. We prevent painful conclusions, 
which he is very apt to deduce from a supposed 
singularit}^; and we enabled him to draw in- 
ferences for himself, which may preserve him 
from the extreme of presumption or despair. 
We abstract his attention from extraneous 
cares, and fix it on some thing which may give 
a clue to the windings of his heart. The 
sooner we can effect this desirable end, the 
greater probability is there of a favourable is- 
sue. And the longer he is detained from it, 
the greater is his hazard of fatal self-deception; 
or of an equally fatal relinquishment of the in- 
terests of his soul. 

"But the dangers to which the inquirer is ex- 
posed, may often be commensurate with his 
difficulties. And among these, not the least 
may be found in the w T ell-meant, but injudi- 
cious advice of pious friends. A work, then, 
which will furnish Scriptural directions for 
different states of mind, consequent on the na- 
tural disposition, or temporal circumstances, 
of the awakened sinner, is certainly a desidera- 
tum. 

"Or, if there be no hazard of a fictitious peace, 
from such a source, it may be the lot of the 
inquirer to be out of the reach of those to whom 
he might impart his anxieties, and from whose 
experimental knowledge, relief might be ob- 
tained. And in such a dilemma it is easy to 
foresee that all solicitude may be abandoned in 
hopelessness; recourse may be had to error; or 
postponement, to a more favourable issue, may 
ensue. 



author's PREFACE. XV 



"In the private musings, too, of one in such a 
state, there may be imminent danger. Not 
only from his false expectations, but from the 
excuses which he secretly gives to his con- 
science. Present disappointment induces him 
to look somewhere else. And thousands in a 
land of Gospel light have given up all effort 
under secret pleas, as dishonourable to God as 
they are destructive to themselves. To en- 
umerate these pleas, and to exhibit their crimi- 
nality, might be an important engagement for 
one who acts as counsellor; but it belongs to a 
field by far too large to be occupied in every 
instance of application for advice; while the 
particular parts in which the inquirer is pri- 
vately wandering, may not be discerned. A 
volume, then, which would answer this end 
might assist the adviser, while it rendered the 
folly and inconsistency of the awakened sinner 
distinctly visible to his own sight. 

"If it be asked, whether I give the following 
pages to the public, with a full confidence in 
their adaptation to remove all these difficulties, 
and to obviate all these dangers, I answer — 
No. Well informed readers, and perhaps some 
who are not so, will observe defects which 
have not escaped my own eye; and possibly 
many w 7 hich have not occurred to me in a 
hasty review. But although my expectations 
of complete success in this effort, are not san- 
guine, they are sufficient to warrant the trust 
that it has not entirely failed. 

" I am persuaded that there are few inquirers 
who will not find something to meet at least 
part of their difficulties; and if the details which 
are given are considered too numerous and too 



xvi author's preface. 



particular by others, they will be the last to 
complain of them. Or if the nature of this 
work seemed to require some little repetition, 
it will be a small objection to one whose mind 
is eagerly intent on learning all that relates to 
his spiritual condition; and who must see that 
the same perplexity or care, sometimes arises 
from different causes. 

"Part of the subjects which are discussed in 
this volume, are not thoroughly canvassed. 
Nor is it necessary that they should be. De- 
signed as the work was for a certain class only, 
it could hardly be expected that all in which 
the Christian is interested should be examined. 
And yet I would humbly hope that even the 
child of God may find something in the pages 
before him of interest to his own soul. 

"As there are many who once belonged to the 
former of these classes, and who are now num- 
bered with neither — who have returned to the 
world after hours of anxiety for their salvation; 
to such the recalled feelings of former days, 
and the reviewed excuses of a melancholy 
apostacy, may not be without some practical 
benefit 

"It may be that the examples given will be 
considered too numerous. But I have thought 
that they might be an advantageous medium 
through which some ideas would more dis- 
tinctly appear. There is not one of them fic- 
titious; and, excepting where marked by ex- 
press quotation to the contrary, they have 
fallen under my personal observation. And it 
is of small importance that the language put 
into the mouths of such examples, was not ex- 
actly their own. This could not be recollect- 



author's preface. xvii 

ed. But a faithful adherence to the substance 
and spirit of titterings by them, has been in- 
violably preserved. 

"1 have availed myself of any advantage 
which I could obtain, as far as I knew, from 
the works of other authors. And where it has 
appeared necessary to do so, I have named 
them. But they have been few. I have at- 
tempted to draw for materials rather on the 
Word of God, and on life as I have seen it, 
than on the writings of others. 

" One more remark may appear necessary. 
The following Letters are exactly what they 
purport to be — written to a friend with a de- 
sign to assist him in his inquiries for salvation. 
If it be thought that they may be of service to 
some under similar circumstances, I shall be 
gratified in the concurrence of the hopes of 
others with my own. If not, there is some 
consolation, under the failure, in the thought 
that they were written with a sincere desire to 
aid the cause of religion. They are sent into 
the world with few pretensions; but accom- 
panied, — as they were in the act of writing 
them, — with prayer in their behalf, to the 
Great Head of the Church." 

It may perhaps be expected that w r e should 
present some view of the life and character of 
Dr. Henry. We have no means of doing this, 
inasmuch as we had not the happiness of a per- 
sonal acquaintance with him. Still the public 
w T ill have less to regret on this subject, as there 
is a Memoir attached to the first edition of the 
work, from the hand of an intimate acquaint- 
b2 



XV111 LIFE OF DR. HENRY* 

ance and friend — a Memoir which can not fail 
to be read with interest and pleasure. It is 
here offered verbatim as it originally appeared. 

"Thomas Charlton Henry was born 
September 22, 1790, in the City of Phi- 
ladelphia. He was the eldest son of Alex- 
ander Henry, Esq. the benevolent and vene- 
rated President of the ■ American Sunday 
School Union. Originally intended for en- 
larged mercantile pursuits, the subject of this 
account went through an unusually extended 
course of literature, and took his first degree 
with distinguished reputation at Middlebury 
College, Vermont, in August, 1814. Imme- 
diately upon his graduation, the most tempting 
and splendid prospects of affluence and distinc- 
tion invited his entrance upon a secular career; 
but having felt the power of renewing grace, 
and having devoted himself to the Saviour, 
while at the College, he " conferred not with 
flesh and blood," But unhesitatingly embraced 
the laborious and self-denying profession of the 
Christian Ministry, Accordingly, he entered 
upon a course of Theology in the Seminary at 
Princeton, N. J. which was finished in 1816, 
and he received license to preach the Gospel. 
On his first entrance into the Ministry, his rare 
endowments and polished eloquence attracted 
uncommon attention, and opened before him 
several very important and inviting fields of 
labour. Having received, and ultimately de- 
clined, invitations to the pastoral care of 
churches in Wilmington, Delaware; Salem, 
Mass. and Lexington, Ken. , he finally accepted 



LIFE OF DR. HENRY. XIX 

the unanimous call of the Presbyterian Church 
in Columbia, S. C, where he was ordained and 
installed, by the Presbytery of Harmony, in 
November, 1818. Upon the sacred duties of a 
Pastor, Mr. Henry entered with a deep and 
solemn impression of responsibility, and an un- 
wavering determination to pursue a course of 
untiring labour and unyielding fidelity. Tak- 
ing a decided ground in defence of vital experi- 
mental religion; urging the doctrines of the 
Cross upon the consciences of his hearers, with 
the demonstration of the Spirit and with power; 
carrying his great work of winning souls to 
Christ, to the frequent prayer-meeting, the do- 
mestic circle, and the individual expostulation: 
— the result was such as might have been anti- 
cipated. The church rejoiced in spiritual pros- 
perity, many were convinced of guilt and 
danger, and yielded to the influence of renewing 
grace; while many others clustered round the 
standard of determined opposition. Conflicting 
necessarily with those whose views and feel- 
ings were in complete antagonism to his own, 
his course afforded another severe test of char- 
acter. The temptation to temporize was strong. 
By softening the expressions of God's Word, 
by yielding a few points of duty, he might 
have enjoyed universal favour and applause. 
But he had not so learned Christ. Unappalled 
by menaces, unseduced by flattery, he nobly 
maintained his ground, and willingly submit- 
ted to the painful sacrifice of the kindness of 
former friends, in stern fidelity to his Master's 
cause. 

"At the close of the 5th year of Mr. Henry's 
ministry in Columbia, he received an unani- 



XX LIFE OF DR. HENRY. 

mous call from the 2d Presbyterian Church in 
the City of Charleston, which he accepted un- 
der the full belief that it was a station in which 
he could be more happy and useful than by 
continuing where he then was. In this im- 
portant and respectable Congregation, he com- 
menced his labours in January, 1824, and was 
installed by the Charleston Union Presbytery. 
Here, untrammelled by opposition, and sur- 
rounded by an united and 'affectionate people, 
he enjoyed a field of action, worthy of his com- 
manding talents and holy enterprize. Seldom 
has there been presented a nobler model of 
pastoral activity and fidelity; and seldom has 
there been witnessed a more effectual accom- 
plishment of the grand purposes of the Chris- 
tian Ministry. In the stated serviees of the 
Pulpit, and the crowded Lecture Room; in 
the Bible Class and Sunday School, in every 
family of his charge, and in the privacy of in- 
dividual inquiry, his full soul was poured forth 
in affectionate, earnest instruction, and ardent 
supplication. Nor was the harvest long de- 
layed. In the first and second years of his 
brief ministry, considerable additions were 
made to the church; but in the third, a blessed 
effusion of the Holy Spirit was enjoyed, and a 
goodly company of his spiritual children was 
gathered to the communion of the faithful. 

"The indefatigable labours and constant soli- 
citude of Dr. Henry, during this precious sea- 
son, so far impaired his health as to render a 
period of relaxation indispensable. He there- 
fore undertook a voyage to Europe, and em- 
barked for Liverpool in April, 1826. 

During the four or five months of his stay in 



LIFE OF DR. HENRY. XXi 

Europe, he travelled through the principal 
parts of Great Britain and Ireland, and visited 
the Continent. Several weeks were spent 
both in Paris and London. This tour was at- 
tended by many very interesting circum- 
stances, and produced important results. His 
mind was intensely engaged. His heart and 
hands were constantly full. In accumulating 
valuable facts and observations, in closely ob- 
serving national character, and in obtaining ac- 
curate and enlarged views of the present state 
of Religion, Literature and Science, in differ- 
ent nations, his diligence and success have been 
rarely equalled. Amid all these varied scenes, 
the great business of his life was not intermitted. 
Whether on the mighty deep, or on the rapid 
journey, or in the crowded city; he ceased not 
to plead the cause of his Redeemer, and to per- 
suade men to be reconciled to God. In Paris, 
he became intimate in a circle of devoted Chris- 
tians, some of very high rank, who were 
greatly delighted and edified by his sermons 
and conversation. In London, his whole soul 
was engaged in viewing the vast operations of 
Christian benevolence, and in intimate associa- 
tion with eminent evangelical Ministers, and 
the best religious society. Here he preached 
frequently; and in one of the large dissenting 
churches, he delivered several familiar evening 
lectures, which were attended by crowds, and 
afforded the highest satisfaction. 

" The high estimation in which Dr. Henry 
was held in Europe, is evinced, by the solici- 
tations for correspondence he received from 
numerous distinguished Civilians as well as 
Clergymen, and by the many valuable presents 



XXli I-IFE OF DR. HENRY. 

and memorials of kindness, which were press- 
ed upon him both by individuals and commu- 
nities. A considerable collection of books, 
which he had bespoken from a bookseller, was 
paid for by one of the London Churches, en- 
tirely without his previous knowledge. But 
the richest blessingof his tour was the testimony 
he received, that several of the attendants on 
his preaching, and of the companions of his 
travels, had been brought, through his instru- 
mentality, to a saving experience of renewing 
grace. 

"About the beginning of October he took a 
sorrowful leave of his English friends, and 
sailed for the United States. Arriving at Phil- 
adelphia, he paid a short visit to his venerable 
Father and numerous relatives, destined, alas! 
to prove a final one on earth, and early in De- 
cember, was welcomed, with the greatest joy, 
by his affectionate congregation. With re- 
doubled vigour and engagedness, he re-entered 
upon his labours among his beloved people, 
and upon the prosecution of his studies. The 
latter, indeed, had known no interruption. 
For in no part of life, probably, had the acqui- 
sition of knowledge been so rapid, or intellec- 
tual exertion so unremitting and successful, as 
during this season of relaxation. The effect 
produced upon Dr. Henry's mind, by survey- 
ing the splendid Theological establishments, 
the vast treasures of sacred literature, and the 
towering eminence of many of the scholars and 
divines of the Old World, was altogether bene- 
ficial and animating. Instead of being dis- 
heartened and sinking into despondence, by a 
comparison of our institutions in these respects 



LIFE OF DR. HENRY. XX111 

i 

with those of Europe, as has been the case with 
others, he was stimulated to nobler efforts, and 
refreshed by higher hopes. The inspiring 
scenes, he had witnessed in the religious world, 
caused a more intense conviction of the moral 
grandeur and awful responsibility of the Gos- 
pel Ministry. The noble achievements of the 
learned champions in defence of the Gospel 
abroad, disclosed to his mind more distinctly 
than ever, the grand field of intellectual effort, 
and enkindled an inconceivable ardour, to do 
extensive and permanent good in the world. 
He felt that the standard of clerical learning and 
study was too low in this country; and fully 
imbibed the spirit of that holy man, whose 
maxim was — u attempt great things, and ex- 
pect great things/' 

"While, therefore, he remitted nothing of his 
former attention to pastoral duty, he devoted 
himself, with extraordinary zeal and diligence, 
to laborious study and composition. He press- 
ed forward, as under the constant impression, 
that he had much to do, which must be ac- 
complished, and that his time was short. The 
following work, undertaken at the special re- 
quest of an English gentleman who was his 
travelling companion for some time, was com- 
menced soon after his return. And towards 
its completion, he could not have laboured 
more unremittingly, had he foreseen, that, be- 
fore its publication, his opportunities of use- 
fulness to his fellow men would be closed for- 
ever. " Blessed is that servant who is found 
so doing." The Messenger, which came from 
his Divine Master, to summon him away from 
all his labours, found him in the midst of most 



2txiv LIFE OF DR. HEN&Y. 

active and useful engagements. But his work 
was done. It is the Lord's doing and marvel- 
lous in our eyes. It is the duty of wounded 
affection to bow down in silence before the in- 
scrutable mystery of this dispensation. 

"On the appearance of that fatal scourge of 
Charleston, the Yellow Fever, in August, Dr. 
Henry could not be persuaded, that it was his 
duty to retire from the city, or intermit his 
usual pastoral visits or his course of study. 
Accordingly he continued to visit the sick and 
afflicted, and to fill his pulpit regularly, until 
the first of October, when, in the enjoyment 
of perfect health, he w r as suddenly seized with 
that dreadful malady, which, in four days, ter- 
minated his precious life, at the early age of 
37, leaving a bereaved widow and three chil- 
dren to lament the loss of such a husband and 
father as few ever had to lose. The scenes of 
overwhelming distress, which attended and fol- 
lowed this agonizing event, cannot be ade- 
quately described. Suffice it to say, that amid 
the alarm and consternation occasioned by his 
fatal illness, he alone was calm and unappalled. 
While around him were waitings and lamen- 
tations, his expiring voice was employed in re- 
joicing and praise. And while a "horror of 
great darkness" fell upon others, at his sudden 
and ^premature departure; he viewed it with 
rapture, as the bright and cloudless dawning of 
immortal glory. 

"Dr. Henry was richly endowed with the 
gifts of nature. In person, noble and attrac- 
tive — in manner, polished and affable. He 
possessed in an eminent degree, as to voice, 
look and action, the attributes of a finished ora- 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXT 

tor. In classical and theological learning, he 
had few equals of his own age and country. 
To a critical knowledge of the ancient lan- 
guages, he added a correct acquaintance with 
several modern ones. Especially with the ori- 
ginals of Holy Scripture, and the writings of 
the Fathers, he was quite familiar. In a word, 
he was an honour and ornament to his profes- 
sion — an accomplished divine. His devoted 
zeal for the souls of men, and his pure evan- 
gelical sentiments, will be most affectionately 
disclosed by the present volume, and one or 
two other posthumous publications. His in- 
estimable worth as a Pastor is best attested by 
the heart breaking, inconsolable grief of his 
bereaved congregation. But the crowning ex- 
cellence of his character consisted in an entire 
self-consecration, with all his endowments and 
energies, to the blessed Redeemer, and a deep 
experience of the power of religion. Thus he 
was rendered a rich blessing in his life, and 
richly blessed in his death. And when every 
earthly hope was extinguished, a light from 
above irradiated the valley of death's shadow, 
and he could enter it saying, i death, where 
is thy sting, grave, where is thy victory!' " 



;y 



- In drawing this Essay to a close, we can not 
express our own views of the excellence of the 
Letters of Dr. Henry in language which con- 
veys our opinion more clearly than in the few 
concluding observations of the review to which 
allusion has before been made. " We have 
perhaps never read a book, except the Bible, 
with whose sentiments we could more exactly 
c 



XXVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

accord, and few which appear to us better cal- 
culated to be useful, than these letters. Dr. 

H appears to take a common sense view 

of every subject in his letters, and these views 
seem to have been formed from a practical ac- 
quaintance with the matters of which he treats. 
When these letters shall be known, they will 
be esteemed an important treasure, not only by 
anxious enquirers, but by those who have any 
concern in religious instruction; and will be 
regarded as a valuable closet companion to the 
practical Christian." 

G. T. B. 

Philadelphia, May, 1833. 



CONTENTS. 



LETTER I. 

Feelings of privacy commonly accompanying" serious im- 
pressions — The critical state of an awakened sinner — 
An instance of abandoned convictions — Advice. 



LETTER II. 

Mistaken views — Danger of reliance on feeling — The 
duty of avoiding unnecessary association with the 
"World — Counting the cost — On the opposition of 
others — A melancholy instance — Advice — An instance 
of the happy effects of Christian prudence — Discou- 
ragements from luke-warm Christians — The folly of 
relinquishing the subject in consequence of external 
difficulties — Encouragement. 



XXV111 CONTENTS. 

LETTER III. 

Those difficulties which are of least importance most 
generally discouraging 1 — Impatience arising from dis- 
appointed expectations — A complaint — Its causes — 
The dread of increasing anxiety — A false conclusion — 
Evils arising from natural buoyancy of feeling — Diffi- 
culty in the doctrine of Election — Inclination and des- 
pair aid each other — "I am seeking," a false plea — 
"I am waiting for a day of power" — "I am waiting 
for God to do his part." 

LETTER IV. 

Previous misconceptions — Cause of delay — Any delay or 
suffering the fault of the sinner — Mistake relating to 
the necessity of a certain preparatory process — Scrip- 
ture examples — Error relating to prayer — " I am not 
prepared" — "I am not holy enough" — The incon- 
sistency of the complainer — On insensibility — Want of 
clear views of sin — Degrees of conviction not neces- 
sary to be observed — Why conviction is more difficult 
to be effected in a man of strict morality — The Gospel 
invites without reference to the degree of conviction. 

LETTER V. 

Complaint of irresolution — Nature of unstable resolu- 
tions — Peculiarity of situation— The folly of speculat- 
ing on the expected change — Vain fancies — (t God 
will not pardon me." — "I do not see how the promi- 
ses can be fulfilled in myself"— -The sufficiency of par- 
don— Advice. 



CONTENTS. XXIX 

LETTER VI. 

Our propension to extremes — Unpardonable sin — Ex- 
planation of passages relating to it — An example of 
the danger of error on this subject. 

LETTER VII. 

The disposition to discouragement — Discouraging texts 
in the Bible — An explanation of Luke, xiii. 24 — Prov. 
i. 28 — Hebrew, xii. 17 — Hosea, iv. 17. 

LETTER VIII. 

Perplexity in reading the word of God — Complaint of 
the want of personal application — Natural aversion to 
the Bible — Mistaken expectations — An impious prac- 
tice — Failure arising from listjessness in reading — 
Want of consideration — Forgetting that God is the au- 
thor — Looking for an extraneous something — How 
the Spirit imparts the right meaning — Duty of becom- 
ing familiar with the plan of salvation —Caution rela- 
tive to reading other books — Concluding advice. 

LETTER IX. 

The folly of spending time in attempting to reconcile 
difficult passages — The duty of diligence in examin- 
ing the proper application of the truth — The question, 
" what part of the Bible shall I read?" — Quotations — 
Application of a Parable — A personal appeal to Christ 
directed in Scripture — Conclusion. 

LETTER X. 

On right desires — The Young Man in the Gospel— A 
complaint of the Inquirer — One of the marks of right 
C2 



XXX CONTENTS. 

desires— A misinterpretation of Romans, ix. 3 — Right 
desires not a mere fear of Hell — The breathings of an 
awakened sinner — Reformation of life connected with 
sincerity — And the spirit of forgiveness on our part — 
Right desires not fitful — Trials — Advice, 

LETTER XL 

Difficulties in prayer — Causes — Mistake respecting the 
nature of prayer — Confusion in the mind of the In- 
quirer — False anticipations in prayer — Perplexity from 
an ignorance of the person addressed — Directions in 
prayer — The duty of describing personal trials — Habit 
of attention — Remedy for wandering thoughts — Ap- 
plication of special promises — Scriptural examples — 
Seasons for prayer — Ejaculatory desires — Forms — 
Does God " ever withhold his Grace, for a season, to 
try the sinner?" — Answered. 

LETTER XII. 

A common error adverted to again— An evil from Theo- 
logical distinctions — Different kinds of repentance — 
The Scriptural distinction — Sorrow does not consti- 
tute repentance — The perversion of legal sorrow to a 
false hope — Examples — The error reproved in Scrip- 
ture — Its cause — Causes leading to repentance — The 
process — Evangelical sorrow follows — Difference be- 
tween counterfeit and true repentance — Conclusion. 

LETTER XIII. 

An Inquirer reviewing his past cares — A remarkable pe- 
riod in his life — The simplicity of faith — A temptation 



CONTENTS. XXXI 

to hold back from Christ — Natural incredulousness— - 
The afflicted Father's application to Christ — The case 
-applied to the Inquirer — The working's of the In- 
quirer's mind — His surrender to Christ — The change 
— Difference in different cases — The act in which re- 
lief most commonly arrives — Not always the same- 
Valedictory. 



LETTERS 



TO AN 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 



LETTER I. 

Feelings of privacy commonly accompanying serious impressions— The 
critical state of an awakened Sinner— An instance of abandoned con- 
victions — Advice. 



MY DEAR SIR, 

How shall we account for that secrecy of 
feeling which you have found it so difficult 
to infringe, and which is so common to the 
experience of awakened sinners? That deli- 
cacy which guards the threshold of religion, 
and restricts the conversation of intimate friends 
to its exterior and general matters ? Shall we 
attribute it to a greater degree of refinement, or 
to a nicer sense of decorum? But it is as pre- 
valent among the ruder, as among the more 
polished classes of society. Shall we ascribe 



2 LETTERS TO AN 

it to an unwillingness to obtrude our griefs 
upon the sympathy of friends ? This would 
be an apology in which fact would not sustain 
us; for he to whom we unbosom our sorrow, is 
supposed to take a deep and unaffected interest 
in our spiritual welfare. And, moreover, this 
privacy is discoverable in the very man, who, 
instead of comprehending the sentiment of a 
Christian poet, that 

"with the soul who ever felt the sting 

"Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing," 

would, at other times, drag you rudely through 
all the minutiae of his private woes. Nor is a 
want of confidence the cause of this restraint — 
for every other feeling may be imparted with 
freedom. Nor can it be wholly, if at all, owing 
to the confessed etiquette of irreligious society, 
which proscribes the subject of evangelical 
truth, much as a law of Athens prohibited the 
name of Death: Nor to that disgust which 
arises from a familiar and ill-timed use of scrip- 
tural terms: Nor to any thing else which could 
furnish an excuse, while it implies a compli- 
ment to our refinement, our taste, or under- 
standing. 

These questions and answers, if they serve 
no other purpose, may at least lead you- to the 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 3 

conclusion that you are not alone: numberless 
other voices utter the same complaint; and the 
subject, in its different shapes, has given rise to 
a thousand discussions; and has led to a variety 
of artificial rules of Christian conduct. Pro- 
fessors of religion who sincerely desire to pro- 
mote the weal of their friends, have frequently 
proposed such queries as the following: — How 
shall I express my concern for one who is pre- 
pared at all times to interrupt me, by saying — 
" this, is a private matter between God and my- 
self;" and who feels that he has reason for of- 
fence in a rude invasion of his tranquillity? 
How shall I introduce the subject of religion in 
a circle where it may be received with symp- 
toms of impatience, or with that listless silence 
which hints its dismission? And after all that 
can be said, there is an art in the successful in- 
troduction of a religious topic, which is less 
easily attained than zeal — a happy tact, which 
even the profane often admire, but which re- 
quires qualities that long experience and fer- 
vent piety may not be able to confer. 

But this delicacy of feeling — we will give it 
its current title, although it belongs to that 
class of things which have wrong names, and 
which are embraced in the forbidden practice 



4 LETTERS TO AN 

of calling evil good and good evil — this deli- 
cacy of feeling, which, while it forbids the ob- 
trusion of religious views, lest they create of- 
fence, and shuts the lips of the awakened sin- 
ner, is not a rare ingredient in the characters 
of many who entertain a trust that they have 
been the subjects of saving grace. There are 
those who have sustained a long and tedious 
struggle in their hearts — who, possessing a 
faint hope that they have passed from death 
unto life, relinquish the ordinary pleasures of 
the world, and engage in all the duties which 
are fulfilled by a lukewarm professor of religion 
— except the duty of profession itself — and 
who, while they lead a cheerless life, seem not 
to consider that what they deem an apology 
for neglect, is the very sin which keeps them 
suspended between heaven and earth, unfit fop 
the enjoyment of either. 

And even after a public profession of faith 
has been made, evils are multiplied from the 
same cause: Not only when the Christian and 
the Worldling, in their ordinary interviews, 
consider the topic of religion forbidden ground 
to both, but in the discharge of many of those 
obligations which both reason and revelation 
enjoin. A valued friend once told me, that 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 5 

one of the most painful trials he had ever 
known, was in founding the domestic altar. 
On other matters he could speak freely; and 
private devotion occupied a due proportion of 
his time. But the conflict in his bosom was 
long and severe before he could persuade him- 
self to become " the minister to his family." 
And can it be doubted that thousands of the 
rising generation retire unblessed from the re- 
straint of parental prayer ? Or can it be doubted 
that this single neglect has checked the influ- 
ence of many a parental example, which might 
have led the offspring to serious thought, if not 
to salvation? 

There is another modification of this deli- 
cacy, which attaches suspicion to it in all its 
forms; social intimacy is often seriously in- 
jurious to that Christian fellowship on which 
the prosperity, if not the life, of personal piety 
depends. This may seem a singular position, 
and it would be so but for the very matter now 
before us. The truth is one of every day's ob- 
servation, that husbands and wives often con- 
verse more freely on the experimental points 
of piety, with those who are comparatively 
strangers, than with each other. The bond 
which nature has formed between relatives, 

D 



6 LETTERS TO Atf 

and which time has riveted, appears too fre- 
quently loosened, when we find that incon- 
gruous reluctance to converse together on mat- 
ters of piety; and when we have seen even 
children more ready to open their minds on 
this subject, to friends less nearly allied, than 
to the parent who has watched over them with 
prayerful solicitude. How is all this? Is there 
something defective in Christianity itself? or 
something that changes the nature of our mu- 
tual relations? Not at all. There may be dif- 
ferent causes which produce different degrees 
of influence towards these effects, but still the 
mover of all this mischief is that most secret 
of agents — pride. There is no need of de- 
fining, no need of explaining the operation of 
this principle; and it is wholly useless to quar- 
rel with terms. Let him who speaks of this 
delicacy, and continues to foster it, examine 
the first feelings to which it gives rise: let him 
compare these feelings together, and note well 
their selfishness; and see if it be possible to 
escape our conclusion. Yes, pride has its re- 
tired habits as well as modesty, its seemly 
aspect, and its very diffidence of manner. And 
it is hence, that among the children of God, 
the consciousness that their mutual infirmities 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 7 

are known to each other, and the correspond- 
ing fear that they might generate a distrust of 
their sincerity, very often stand in the way of 
a fulfilment of that prophecy which the latter 
days shall complete — "then they that feared 
the Lord spake often one to another." 

You have sometimes seen the mind which 
nature had rendered ingenuous and frank, 
drooping under cherished woes — bending be- 
neath a weight it strove to conceal— mingling 
bitterness with domestic peace, and discontent 
with outward prosperity — until the hand that 
was about to set the spirit free from its taber- 
nacle, laid bare to the sight the wounds that 
festered within; and the nearing terrors of a 
death-hour broke the spell of restraint — and 
for the first time, the sufferer could ask, " what 
shall 1 do to be saved ?" 

Or where the mind dared not brood over its 
disquietudes, and was equally unwilling to di- 
vulge them, how often have religious impres- 
sions which seemed nigh to some good hope, 
left place to a spurious peace, which continued 
unbroken through life! 

"But there are moments/' — you say, — 
66 when you are not only anxious to hear all 
that can be said on this subject, but almost wil- 



8 LETTERS TO AN 

ling to inquire of those around you." A more 
intense feeling of danger would certainly pro- 
duce this effect. Even pride gives way in a 
season of peril. A greater passion usurps the 
seat of a lesser, when the two can not reign to- 
gether. And you have, perhaps, witnessed in 
another, that hardly-reprqssed anxiety of man- 
ner, which solicited an inquiry into its cause 
— that distant hinting at a subject there was 
not quite boldness enough to introduce; and 
you saw, plainly, the cause of all this, through 
the miserable efforts to conceal it. But because 
that hint was not taken, and that exposed 
anxiety was not reached by a single question, 
• — and the theme of religion was still kept 
back — the half awakened inquirer suppressed 
a murmur, at the disappointment, and, in the 
petulance of a mortified child, gave up the 
whole matter, with the self-consoling thought — 
" It is partly the fault of others, if I perish." 
Here is pride acted out. And puerile as it may 
appear, it is a case of no uncommon occurrence. 
I am persuaded that if the inquirer will take 
pains to examine the ground he is treading, 
he will find a scriptural admonition meeting 
him at every step, and fitting the very dis- 
position of mind which he then entertains. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 9 

And it were well if, in the outset, he pondered 
the meaning of the Saviour's admonition — an 
admonition which strikes at a latent, but dan- 
gerous principle of the heart — "whosoever 
therefore shall be ashamed of me, and of 
my words, of him also shall the Son of man 
be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of 
his Father, with the holy angels." 

It imports nothing to the purpose to say, 
that we would be willing to endure any public 
dishonour for the sake of Jesus Christ. There 
is a kind of heroism in this, which has its at- 
tractions. And it is more than possible that 
the very man who would give his body to be 
burned, rather than abjure Christianity, may 
be kept back far from salvation, by the petty 
consideration of shame: While it is equally 
certain, that thousands who now retire from the 
blessings of the Gospel, — dreading the first dis- 
closure of their feelings, — would be willing to 
enter, if they could, into a confidential con- 
tract, with the Redeemer. 

How important it is, my dear friend, to be- 
gin aright in any undertaking! And no where 
is it as much so as in the great concerns of the 
soul. An error here will follow us on; and 

may effectually preclude all discovery of the 
d2 



10 LETTERS TO AN 

truth. There is an ingenuousness and candour, 
for which the present state of your mind is 
well prepared, and the exercise of which will 
always furnish some relief. I have often 
thought there was something touching in your 
remark on an interview with W. — "his ap- 
pearance at that moment, was like that of the 
angel to Hagar, as she sat in the wilderness 
mourning over her dying hope." And 1 do 
admit that at such a season as this, we have our 
personal preferences of those to whom w T e 
w T ould present the burden of our minds. 
Where there is good sense and piety in the 
object of our choice, the interview may be 
blessed. And 1 see no necessary reason, as 
others profess to do, w r hy such a choice should 
produce an undue leaning on human means: 
For we entertain, with little apprehension, our 
preferences in the ministrations of the Word: 
And we are certainly bound to adopt those 
measures which most directly reach our wants; 
as well as to seek those instructions, which 
most immediately meet the circumstances of 
our particular cases. 

And yet, after all, it is rather a principle 
than & practice, to which I would direct your 
attention. Whether we express our difficulties 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 11 

to another, or adopt only those more direct 
means which are prescribed in the Word of 
God, is of secondary importance in many 
cases, judicious as the former may be, in most 
instances. But it is of primary importance to 
know whether we are attempting to commence 
this great concern, with a subdued temper, or 
with fostered feelings of pride. 

It is a question which has more than once 
occurred to me, when I have reflected on your 
inquiries, whether 1 shall congratulate my 
friend on his present state of mind, or how far 
I should sympathize with him in this new 
species of sorrow ? But how could I do either, 
alone ? This is a most critical era in his life. 
It may look forward to the enjoyment of Hea- 
ven; or it may produce an issue as positive on 
the side of despair. Let us pause together for 
one moment and examine the ground on which 
you are standing. 

The prejudices which you once carefully 
guarded, and which seemed as a retreat when 
conscience approached too near — how they 
have dwindled away ! The objections to evan- 
gelical truth, which possessed shape and mag- 
nitude, with the very appearance of solidity, 
have vanished as the light grew brighter around 



12 LETTERS TO AN 

you. Difficulties which you thought deserving 
of serious investigation; and petty objections, 
which furnished an excuse for indifference to 
the whole matter of salvation — have receded 
without awaiting your scrutiny. Whence all 
this? It was no mere deduction of reason. 
You have arrived at a conclusion more irresisti- 
ble, and by a process more rapid, than that of 
argument. This is none other than the work 
of the Spirit, whatever its end may be. You 
are surrounded by a new and powerful exhibi- 
tion of divine truth. You look far enough, 
perhaps, into the doctrines of the gospel, to 
see that they contain an energy, and a fullness 
of meaning, of which you thought little before. 
You discover more nearly, the worth of the 
Christian's hope. You feel, in some measure, 
as if awakening from a dream, to a sense of 
want and danger. How will you account for 
all this? "It is God that worketh in you." 
You can look back with some surprise on the 
past; while you compare it with your present 
sense of conviction. The thoughtlessness of 
your associates darkens your prospect by the 
contrast it furnishes: and you are half dis- 
posed to say, 

I see a hand you can not see : 
I hear a voice you can not hear. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 13 

There are moments, too, when you feel isolated 
in the midst of the world; and all its joys, and 
its cares, are merged in the vast consideration 
of your eternal fate; and your sensations seem 
as the shadow of Eternity thrown over your 
soul. 

Now, whatever the degree of your feelings, 
all this is an operation of divine power; and — 
let me add — an effort of divine grace. But 
still it presents only part of the scene in which 
an awakened soul is the active or passive ob- 
ject. There is much which that soul does not 
see; and much of which it may seldom think. 
Angels, who minister to heirs of salvation, re- 
joice in the conversion of the sinner. Are an- 
gels, then, listless spectators of a scene whose 
result may gladden Heaven ? Hell never loses 
a victim without a malignant effort to retain it. 
And are these lost spirits idle in such an hour? 
Do not imagine that these are the mere sug- 
gestions of fancy. The value of an immortal 
soul is not too small to deserve this interest. 

Nor is this all. There are two other con- 
siderations which attach importance to this 
state of mind, beyond that of any former period 
of life. The light which shines so clearly from 
the Law and the Gospel, not only aggravates 



14 LETTERS TO AN 

the guilt of every sin committed in it, but ren- 
ders every hour's delay more criminal in the 
sight of God. This is an awful truth, however 
little it may have occupied our thoughts. The 
sins of other hours, their neglects and follies, 
are committed under less restraint, and with 
less compunctions of conscience. And sad as 
is the record they bear against us, they are 
comparatively small. But when the Spirit of 
God has flung his brightness around duty and 
sin, and rendered them both unequivocal in 
our sight — when we are feelingly sensible that 
we are arrested in a career of danger — even 
the unchecked sin of thought has a power to 
blind the understanding, and to sear the con- 
science, beyond the act of iniquity, on another 
occasion. 

The other consideration is this: Every trifle 
in your circumstances is likely to produce some 
positive effect upon your condition as an In- 
quirer. At other times, the influence of little 
events may reach but a little way. But at this 
period, when the heart receives an impression 
from every thing that can reach it — when ten- 
dencies of good or evil supplant each other so 
easily — it is not impossible that the eternal 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 15 

doom of the soul may be suspended by an ap- 
parently negative matter. 

There are political moments when the fate 
of an empire hangs on a trifle, and the welfare 
of its millions is to be secured or lost. It is so, 
too, in the struggle of an awakened sinner; 
when hope may be won or abandoned, even 
without the interference of a ruling passion. 
Here, then, 1 can not omit saying, that there 
is no idea more erroneous than that which is 
sometimes held by the friends of one who has 
been aroused to a sense of danger, and led to 
some seriousness of thought: I mean the idea 
that all is now well; that the convicted is "in 
a good way:" as if piety had already com- 
menced its reign in the bosom, or a credible 
assurance were given of its future influence. 

And are all these things really so? Are you 
singled out from the rest of the world, and 
placed on a spot which is soon to witness a 
change of infinite magnitude, in your present 
and future being? Yes; and your own mind 
meets these realities as they approach. There 
are hours when you feel as if every thing de- 
pended upon an immediate decision: when the 
conflict is plainly perceptible within you. And 
you sometimes ask yourself, " what will the 



16 LETTERS TO AN 

end be ?" You testify to the truth of all this. 
You are to yourself a witness of the doubts, 
fears, hopes, and painful suspense, which agi- 
tate the bosom of one whose heart is contend- 
ing with the Spirit of God. Other events may 
be of little value, even if they completely 
change your temporal condition. But all that 
is transpiring in this period of your history, 
will possess a mighty influence, and may give 
an unalterable tone to your future character. 

I admit that there is something fearful in the 
reflection, that so much may depend upon mat- 
ters, which, at other times, produce a less 
alarming influence: or that there should be a 
critical period of life, in which our future 
destiny is likely to be fixed : or that a present 
unhappy decision may possibly be final. But 
it is not indispensably necessary to appeal to 
any special doctrine of Scripture, in order to 
substantiate this truth. Every one who is ac- 
quainted with the human mind under the con- 
victions of conscience, must have noticed the 
increased insensibility which succeeds a fruit- 
less struggle; and the loss of moral power, after 
a violation of serious resolves. But this in- 
sensibility, and this loss, increase in a melan- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 17 

choly ratio, in the once-awakened sinner, who 
returns to the world. 

Nor is it an extraordinary case, when we 
find a man whose mind has been the field of 
this conflict, utterly unsusceptible of serious 
thought, under the most alarming providences: 
Or even passing into the extreme of bitter practi- 
cal hostility, against all that is evangelical. And 
it is even possible for him, in the midst of all 
this, to review his steps, and to remember the 
very goal at which present help and hope were 
abandoned together. 

Such an instance occurs to my thoughts this 
moment; and I shall do you no wrong if I fre- 
quently attempt to illustrate my remarks by 
examples taken from life. The one to which I 
now refer, was that of an acquaintance, in 
whom a disposition naturally volatile, and feel- 
ings always impetuous, rendered the struggle 
more visible and marked. His unrepressed 
anxiety, and his impassioned resolutions, were 
known to his friends around him, and they 
awakened a general solicitude in his favour. It 
was impossible to be indifferent to the spectacle. 
Hopes and fears occupied the hearts of a prayer- 
ful circle. Expectations were raised and baffled, 
again and again. There was something fright- 

E 



18 LETTERS TO AN 

ful in the operations of his mind, and in the 
earnestness of his manner. It almost reminded 
us of what we should have fancied in the days 
of evil-possession. But, even from this, we 
gathered some encouragement, to hope that 
this change would be as marked as his con- 
victions. The result appeared at last: And it 
might have been foretold by the workings of 
wavering thought, as if the light of divine 
truth, that had shone so full, was now dimly 
flickering. The world laid a less disputed 
claim to his affections than ever. The voice 
of prayer was hushed: And the concern of 
many gave way to indifference. 

Let me digress for a moment to say — this is 
all w T e usually know of such a case. In sight 
of the world he would stand just where he was 
before. Pious friends would sigh and hope for 
the best hereafter. But, in the meanwhile, a 
work is going on in his own bosom, part of 
which he may not understand; while another 
part plainly communicates a secret ominous of 
the future: for there is ever something, in this 
condition of the once-awakened sinner, which 
tells a foreboding tale. That brief and thought- 
less prayer, contrasted with the aroused ener- 
gies, w r hich so lately directed every petition 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 19 

to the throne of grace — that satisfaction when 
it is over, betokening the reluctance of the of- 
fering, and contrasted, in its turn, with the cry 
into which the whole soul had once been in- 
fused, " God have mercy on me a sinner!" 
— that change of meaning and of character, 
which appears in the services of the sanctuary — 
that — what shall I call it? — that conscious and 
renewed deadness to all that is sacred or spi- 
ritual — that feeling of one*s own weight again, 
on returning to the world, until the world has 
taken part of the burden on itself — that half- 
desperate, half-hopeful self-communion with 
the soul — or that u dash of the die," which in- 
dicates a spirit hazarding all, in almost con- 
scious infatuation — no matter what the sensa- 
tions or signs may be, there is an obvious sense 
of a dealing between God and himself, in the 
breast of the apostate Inquirer, on his first re- 
turn to the world. And although he take his 
rank among those around him, only as one of 
the impenitent of the earth, he is not insensible, 
himself, that his past experience has rendered 
his situation peculiar, and that it is possible to 
call a testimony against him, whenever events 
may awaken his conscience from its slumbers. 
In the instance now before me, I question 



20 LETTERS TO AN 

whether the light of conviction ever went out 
altogether. There was a witness within his 
own bosom which continued to prophecy, al- 
though it was clothed in sackcloth. But his 
cavils were frequent and many, whenever evan- 
gelical truth was named: and they were always 
tempered with that acrimony of expression, 
which displays the unsatisfied condition of the 
utterer; and which reminds us of the desperate 
state of a fallen combatant, who flings the dust 
at his antagonist, in the vexation of his spirit, 
before he bites it in the agonies of death. 

The subject of these remarks would con- 
verse, with all the eagerness of one who held 
an interest in the prosperity of the kingdom of 
darkness, — on the uncharitableness of Chris- 
tians, on the discrepancy of sects — or on the 
unhallowed example of professors of religion. 
How wide a field! And he seemed to have 
left behind him all his personal cares, when- 
ever he traversed it. But why should I detail? 
— A voice arrested the caviller. It was not 
that which confounded Saul on his way to the 
Christians of Damascus. It was that of Death; 
death, too, at a juncture in his temporal affairs. 
This, however, was of least importance. The 
crisis of an eternal fate he considered as past. 
But what of that ?— Survivors put the best con- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 21 

struction on the remorse of the deceased. Be- 
sides — there is a natural disposition to identify 
remorse and evangelical repentance. And 
there is something revolting to the minds of 
most of us, in scrutinizing evidences on the bed 
of suffering. We are prone to reflect on what 
Almighty power can do, in an hour of ex- 
tremity; and we willingly take the possibility 
for a hope. Who, then, would not have looked 
for the best? It was what he called " these il- 
lusions," which he endeavoured to dispel. 
"X have always believed," said he, " that 
there was a horrible thought in dating the 
possible departure of the spirit of God from 
the soul. We shudder at the idea of desertion, 
without reflecting on its particulars. But it is 
tolerable while wrapt in the mystery of igno- 
rance — ignorance of its manner, its cause, and 
its time. And yet, at this very hour, 1 can 
look back to the turning point of my hopes. I 
can remember my struggles under conviction. 
1 can recall the weariness of effort — the dis- 
taste — the compunctions, which preceded the 
first bold act of worldliness; and which, in 
their departure, declared the issue decisive. 
In all the confusion of my thoughts here is an 

unchanging spot in the survey of the past. 
e2 



22 LETTERS TO AN 

There it remains — and no hand can blot it out. 
No — you are not to imagine my judgment im- 
paired in such a review. I can deliberately 
retrace the seasons departed. My return to 
the world was not designated by an act which 
the common rules of morality would impeach. 
But it was by one, which, it is plain, put an 
end to the struggle. And I could not renew 
the conflict when I would willingly have done 
so. Conviction did not leave me. But it sat 
on my spirits like a lifeless weight, that in- 
stead of giving them activity, crushed them 
down. My judgment is as much convinced as 
ever. But it avails me nothing. The bright- 
ness of a holy law, and that of the world which 
I am approaching, only render my condition 
more awful, as the midnight lightning does 
that of the wrecked mariner, by showing him 
the impossibility of escape. I can see, — 1 can 
comprehend, — but 1 can lay hold of nothing. 
I can compel no play of that interest which 
the near approach of the Holy Spirit once 
created in mv bosom." 

We will drop the curtain here — for, in less 
than an hour, the sufferer knew more of Eter- 
nity than you or I. 

Now it is not necessary that exactly such an 
example be adduced, in support of our position. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 23 

It is still true, whatever the nature of the feel- 
ings under conviction, that to realize the near 
interest in salvation which once gave energy 
to desire and force to our resolution, will be 
far less easy, after the mind has been brought 
to a certain closeness to spiritual things, and 
has retreated from them again. And the de- 
gree of actual guilt, in the commission of sin, 
may have less to do with such an effect, than 
have a sense of warning gone by, and the con- 
sciousness of past divine interposition. There 
is an agency between the Sinner and his God. 
And however little the former may say on the 
subject, or however indistinct it may appear, 
in the bustle of his thoughts, he will not be in- 
sensible to it, nor will he ever wholly forget 
it, in the remainder of his life. 

Adieu, my dear sir, for the present. Re- 
member what eyes are upon you. Remember 
what interests are at stake. Recollect that all 
your anxiety is known to One who can afford 
you relief: and that every fluctuation of hope 
and fear is noted, with an earnest concern for 
your welfare. This single reflection carries 
with it both admonition and encouragement. 
Be much in prayer. Make the Word of God 
your principal study. Maintain a vigilant 
guard over your thoughts: and avoid every 



24 LETTERS TO AN 

engagement which might unnecessarily divert 
them from your present pursuit. 
I am, truly, Yours, &c. 






LETTER II. 

Mistaken views— Danger of reliance on feeling— The duty of avoiding un- 
necessary association with the World— Counting the cost — On the oppo- 
sition of others — A melancholy instance — Advice— An instance of the 
happy effects of Christian prudence— Discouragements from luke-warm 
Christians— The folly of relinquishing the subject in consequence of ex- 
ternal difficulties — Encouragement. 

That ardour and perhaps vehemence, of 
feeling, which exist in some Inquirers, fre- 
quently preclude all suggestions of the judg- 
ment or understanding. To such a one no ob- 
stacle in the matters of the world appears of 
magnitude: No temptation seems worthy of 
thought. He believes himself fortified against 
all the seductions of common life. The great 
end of salvation he conceives to engage, not 
only the emotions of his heart, but the facul- 
ties of his mind. Without a single fear from 
external impressions, he is ready to encounter 
any temptation: and thinks himself prepared to 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 25 

oppose the feelings of his present anxiety to 
all that could be set in array against it. The 
allurements of time have disappeared. All 
that belongs to earth has assumed a character 
of insignificance. 

But is such a state always one of safety? 
May there not be danger in this overweening 
confidence? There is, certainly, imminent dan- 
ger. The same susceptibility of temperament 
that exposed his bosom to its present agitation, 
lays it open to insidious encroachments from a 
quarter whence he apprehends but little dan- 
ger; and the strong holds of his security are, 
generally, his weakest and most vulnerable 
points. 

Nor is this a matter of surprise when we re- 
collect that there is no state of mind more de- 
ceptive, or more treacherous, than that which 
is produced by certain kinds of serious impres- 
sions. The recession of the world is not, as 
may be imagined, the effect of a love of holi- 
ness: and the disinclination to pleasures re- 
cently dear, does not arise from a positive taste 
for piety. There is no new principle planted 
in the heart; and the powerful feeling which is 
supposed to govern it, is without any rule of 
control, or any defined place of direction* 



26 LETTERS TO AN 

The scenes of a single hour may produce a 
rapid and perceptible return of the current. 

Is there, then, any thing more unwise, or 
more hazardous, than a confident reliance on a 
condition so precarious, in the midst of temp- 
tations that present a strong appeal to the natu- 
ral heart? And yet it is to this we are to attri- 
bute the failure of many an Inquirer, whose 
earnestness had inspired us with every hope of 
his success: but who, in mistaking an unor- 
ganized feeling for a substantial principle, was 
taken in the snare which presumption had 
placed in his way. And then his astonish- 
ment is, that a state of mind which he con- 
sidered the dawn of religion, should have 
passed off so easily, and all that is unspiritual 
resumed its sway in his bosom again. 

If the remarks which I communicated in my 
last letter, have increased your apprehensions 
from the circumstances under which Provi- 
dence has placed you, I trust there will be no 
reason to regret that they were written. There 
is, indeed, much to excite a jealousy of our- 
selves. And it is well to discover its opera- 
tion upon our conduct; when that operation is 
not carried to an exclusiveness of the very ob- 
ject we are labouring to reach. And yet such 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 21 

an effect, my dear friend, is more than possible: 
We may exert our whole efforts to keep up a 
certain condition of feeling, without any direct 
or practical reference to its ultimate design. 
The evil of this shall be the subject of a future 
page: At present, 1 have only to express my 
hope, that, while you entertain such serious 
fears lest your anxiety be diminished, and 
while you retain "this unaccountable timidi- 
ty," on the subject, you may be enabled at 
once to cast yourself upon him who will un- 
derstand all your infirmities, and who beholds 
not without much concern, a single one of his 
Creatures "in the gall of bitterness." 

That you should abandon all unnecessary 
intimacies which are unfavourable to your 
spiritual welfare, is not only the dictate of 
imperative duty, but it is the prescription of 
ordinary policy. A judicious physician would 
always, if practicable, remove his patient from 
an infected district, and place him w T here the 
air is more favourable to his recovery. But 
the atmosphere of worldly associates is as in- 
auspicious to spiritual life, as is the spot of in- 
fectious disease to the health of the human 
frame. The gaiety, or even indifference to 
religion, which prevails in the society of 



£8 LETTERS TO AN 

worldly men, will not always give intensity, 
by the contrast it furnishes, to the convictions 
of the awakened sinner: Its more legitimate 
effect will be, that of unsettling all that gave 
promise of future good. He should remember 
that the tone of his mind, unformed as it is, 
subjects him to a more positive effect from the 
society in which he moves, than from other 
and more suspected causes: and that he re- 
quires every possible check upon dispositions 
which are now restrained by a rein that is weak 
at the best. 

" lam a companion of all them that fear 
thee"* said one of old, in evidence of his de- 
light in the counsels and commandments of 
God. Such, too, should be the language of the 
sincere Inquirer, when he enters up his reso- 
lutions to espouse the cause of the Redeemer 
as his own: a resolution which he is likely to 
make in the outset; and which he is to con- 
nect with the discharge of every sacred duty : 
For if there are certain duties which he sup- 
poses can be accomplished only by the Chris- 
tian, he is persuaded there are others which it 
is in the power of the unrenewed man to com- 
plete. But the simple truth is — and it de- 

* Psalm, cxix* 63. 



ANXIOUS INQUIREH. 20 

serves our most serious consideration, — that he 
is under as much obligation as the Christian 
himself, to obey the whole law of his God; 
and his line of duty extends not one jot less 
far than that of the heir of grace: and all ne- 
glect or inability is charged upon himself; just 
as the temper and disposition which are op- 
posed to holiness are condemned, as guilty, on 
the part of the sinner. 

Yet whatever uneasiness a position presented 
in such a form, may create in your mind, it is 
conceded that a choice of associates is fully 
within your power; or, at least, that a retire- 
ment from an unnecessary intercourse with 
worldly men, is perfectly practicable. And it 
is equally certain that a disregard of precepts 
to this purpose, is in opposition to one of those 
petitions which should form a part of all our 
prayers — " lead us not into temptation." In 
the meanwhile, there is not a more deleterious 
effect observable on the mind of the man ac- 
customed to devotional seasons, than that which 
he discovers when he comes to the chamber of 
retirement, reeking with the influence of world- 
ly society. And it not unfrequently demands 
the full influence of a living principle of piety 
to restore him to a devotional frame. If such 



30 LETTERS TO AN 

be the experience of one whose principles and 
habits are confirmed, how much more impor- 
tant is the choice of society to the Inquirer. 

Much has been said on the trials w T hich deci- 
sion on this subject are supposed to produce; 
and in some instances, with great reason. But 
may it not be true that, in most cases, no small 
share of these evils is imaginary; and a con- 
siderable part of the difficulties of our own for- 
mation? I assure you I have often thought so. 
There are few in a land lighted by the Gospel, 
who have not had their serious moments — 
not to say seasons of painful conviction — and 
whose judgments do not secretly approve the 
course of the returning sinner. Even he who 
professes to be satisfied w T ith a cold system of 
morality, and who disavows a belief in the 
transforming influence of the Holy Spirit, is 
not always perfectly contented with the part 
he has adopted. There is, I have no doubt, a 
latent feeling of insecurity, brought into action 
by the separation of a former companion: and 
he may feel the reproach which that separation 
tacitly conveys: but whatever deportment he 
may manifest, depend upon it, there is no de- 
cline of true respect towards him. Apprehen- 
sions on this subject, therefore, are very fre- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 31 

quently groundless; and the unhappiness they 
create entirely gratuitous. And so, it might 
be added, are very many of the external cares 
which harass the awakened sinner. 

That excuse for neglecting the concerns of 
the soul which so often follow the solemn ad- 
monitions of conscience, and which assumes 
such a shape as the following — " / am afraid 
to begin the inquiry for salvation lest I be 
tempted to abandon it at last 77 — is not with- 
out a partial operation here. There are those 
who are unwilling to forego society which 
they know to be prejudicial to their best in- 
terests, from a doubt of their future success in 
the inquiry, and a fear of the consequent shame 
on coming back to the world. And it is this 
which, while it produces a compromising spirit 
and conduct, effects the very failure they ap- 
prehend. Such a man is attempting to secure 
two irreconcilable interests; or at least, to re- 
tain one, in the peradventure of ill-success with 
the other. Here can be no sincerity of heart 
in the application for divine favour: no fair 
value set upon it — neither conviction of sin, 
nor a true disposition to surrender every thing 
unreservedly to God, and to relinquish all that 
stands in the way of such a sacrifice: A dispo- 



32 LETTERS TO AN 

sition of which you should never lose sight, 
and to which I would have your mind habitual- 
ly directed. 

There is not a more important scriptural di- 
rection to the Inquirer, than that which bids 
him " count the cost" of the pursuit in which 
he professes to engage. Any reserve, which he 
may desire to make, in the great obligations of 
duty, will as effectually bar his success as an 
avowed spirit of worldliness. And in this 
matter, with language that seemed designed to 
anticipate all such difficulties, the Saviour has 
expressly said, "If any man come to me, and 
hate not (a comparative term) his father and 
mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, 
and sisters, yea and his own life also, he can not 
be my disciple. And whosoever doth not bear 
his Cross, and come after me, can not be my 
disciple."* Here the dearest affections we are 
supposed to entertain, are considered secondary 
in the heart of sincerity. And the remainder 
of the chapter from which this passage is se- 
lected, — let me add, — deserves your attentive 
consideration. The awakened sinner has no 
right to form any calculations for the issue of 
his failure. Nor should he, for a single mo- 

* Luke, xiv. 26, 27. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 33 

ment, count on the possibility of such a result: 
For if this be the termination of his anxiety, 
the event is of his own accomplishment, and 
not that of his God. He should be willing to 
withhold nothing; but to make a cordial and 
immediate surrender of all that he has, and is. 

Let the Inquirer continue in the practice of 
worldly association, and the instance will be an 
exception to a general rule, if he do not ulti- 
mately abandon his object; if a certain, not to 
say a rapid, change, do not mark the transition 
of his feelings in a return to thoughtlessness 
again. The innocent cheerfulness, as he deems 
it, to which he is exposed, and which is here 
the levity of an inconsiderate mind, easily be- 
comes an object of attraction: or the apparent 
amiableness of demeanour, which he beholds, 
inspires an unscriptural charity for those who 
exhibit it: — a charity, which, on comparing his 
conduct with theirs, he very naturally annexes 
to his own condition: And all this, especially 
when the unrenewed heart so easily grows 
weary of its burden of sorrow, and longs to de- 
posite the load of its care on the first offered op- 
portunity. 

Let your companions, I pray you, be those 

whose conversation, and whose aims are spirit- 
F3 



34 LETTERS TO AN 

ual. Or, if this be impracticable, confine your- 
self as much as possible to the society of Him 
whose eye you can not escape, and who may be 
equally your Friend, your Counsellor, and 
your God. 

It is indeed a melancholy truth, that, in the 
concerns of the soul, a man's enemies may 
sometimes be "those of his own household ;" 
or, of the very group with which he is daily 
and necessarily associated. And favoured in- 
deed are they, whose family and friends are 
all of the household of Christ; and whose 
progress in holy attainments is forwarded 
by a pious intercourse! But such is not the 
lot of all. Strong, and sometimes effective, 
opposition is made to the advancement of 
others, less advantageously circumstanced. 
The air of seriousness is mistaken for an un- 
warrantable melancholy. The sedate deport- 
ment, and perhaps abstracted thoughtfulness, 
disturb the vivacity of the domestic circle; or 
even excite some alarm respecting the mind, 
or health, of the Inquirer. Parental anxiety, 
or that of attached friends, suggests a thousand 
unhappy surmises; and measures are taken to 
arrest an event which affection itself is appre- 
hending. Among these, are those misconcep- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. S5 

tions of doctrine, those mis-statements of the 
character of religion, and those appeals to a re- 
ligion of nature, which the natural heart is al- 
ways prepared to furnish; or those false ideas 
of the attributes of God, and that unscriptural 
advice, whose end is rather to hide than to heal 
" the leprosy of soul. " No where is the world- 
ling so willing to advise on a subject which he 
does not understand, himself — no where so 
willing to " daub with untempered mortar," 
as in the complaint of the corruptions of the 
heart. The convicted sinner, who has some 
fair insight into his own evil, detects the fal- 
lacy of this interference; and while he knows 
that his disorder is misunderstood by those 
who, without being sensible of it, are perish- 
ing with the same disease, he can exclaim with 
a sigh, like one in distress before, " miserable 
comforters are ye all?" But where the view 
of his condition is more imperfect, and the 
wound has never been deep, the end of this in- 
terference may be fatal to hope. Affection will 
inspire a strong confidence in those whom we 
love. A child is very apt to attach an equivo- 
cal character to the rules which a father may 
violate, rather than suspect the integrity of his 
parent. And this very principle, not unfre- 



36 LETTERS TO AN 

quently, gives an undue influence to the un- 
scriptural and most injudicious counsel of 
friends; and that too, it may be, where the mo- 
tive is not fully understood by themselves. 

It is a cruel kindness which would sacrifice 
the interests of the soul to a temporary plea- 
sure; or hazard them all for the sake of its own 
selfishness. And yet we have reason to appre- 
hend that the scenes of another world will tell 
many a story of woe in the history of the soul, 
touching this very point. 

" I was present," — said a worthy minister 
of the Gospel, on an occasion which introduced 
this subject — u I was present where an instance 
of this kind made a painful and indelible im- 
pression on my memory: An accomplished and 

amiable young woman, in the town of , 

had been deeply affected by a sense of her 
danger. She was the only child of a fond and 
affectionate parent: And the deep depression 
which accompanied her discovery of guilt and 
depravity, awakened ail the jealousies of the 
father. He dreaded the loss of all that spright- 
liness and vivacity, which constituted the hap- 
piness of the domestic circle. He was startled 
by the answers which his questions elicited; 
while he foresaw,— or thought he foresaw — a 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 37 

fatal encroachment on a hitherto unbroken tran- 
quillity. Efforts were made to remove the cause 
of disquietude: but they were such efforts as 
unsanctified wisdom directed. The Bible, at last 
— Oh how little may a parent know the far- 
reaching of the deed, when he snatches the 
Word of Life from the hand of a child! — the 
Bible, and other books of religion, were re- 
moved from her possession; and their place 
was supplied by works of fiction. An excur- 
sion of pleasure was proposed, and declined. 
An offer of gayer amusement shared the same 
fate. Promises, remonstrances, and threaten- 
ings followed. But it was the unhappiness of 
the father which completed the inducement to 
compliance — Alas, how little may a parent be 
aware that he is decking his offspring with the 
fillets of death, and leading to the sacrifice, like 
a follower of Moloch! — The end desired was 
accomplished. And all thoughts of piety, and 
all concern for the future, vanished together. 
Less than a year shifted the bright scenes of 
domestic peace. The fascinating and gay 

L M was prostrated by a fever that 

bade defiance to medical skill. The approach 
of death was unequivocal; and the countenance 
of every attendant fell, as if they had heard the 



38 LETTERS TO AN 

flight of his arrow. I see, even now, that look 
directed to the father, by the dying martyr of 
folly. The eye seemed glazing, — and it was 
dim in hopelessness; and yet there seemed a 
something in its expiring rays, that told re- 
proof, and tenderness, and terror, in the same 
glance. And that voice — ; its tone was decided, 
but sepulchral still — "My father — last year I 
would have sought the Redeemer. — Fath — er 
— your child is" — Eternity heard the remain- 
der of the sentence; for it was not uttered in 
Time. And the wretched survivor saw before 
him the fruit of a disorder, the seeds of which 
had been sown when his delighted look fol- 
lowed the steps of his idol in the maze of a 
dance. Oh how often, when I have witnessed 
the earthly wisdom of a parent banishing the 
thoughts of eternity, have I dwelt on that ex- 
pression that seemed to arise from a season of 
departed hope — " last year I would have sought 
the Redeemer!" 

But there are instances in which the opposi- 
tion is of a more distinctive character; and 
when, instead of arising from an avowed re- 
gard for the temporal welfare of those concern- 
ed, it collects and concentrates the malignity 
of a heart inimical to grace. And this may be 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 39 

observable in the very individuals who pay an 
outward respect to the ordinances of religion. 
And the taunting sneer, or the lower, but not 
less bitter, ribaldry, aims to transfix a spirit 
already fallen by another hand. For that very 
temper which applied to the Saviour epithets of 
ignominy and falsehood, and then condemned 
him under the charge, is not less disposed, at 
the present day, to apply false terms to all that 
opposes its interests, and then to hold up the 
object of its slander to contumely and reproach. 
And should the sincere follower of Christ hope 
to live ever unassailed, when his Master was 
accused as an Epicure, and executed as a Trai- 
tor? 

There is one consideration here which should 
not be forgotten; it is this: If the thoughtless 
opposer were compelled to assign his true mo- 
tive for active repugnance to the operations of 
truth, that opposition, instead of proving an im- 
pediment in the way of the Inquirer, would 
form a strong ground of encouragement. He 
would see its source in an ignorance alarming 
in the extreme — or in a selfishness w 7 hich arro- 
gates to itself a right to new-modify the Gos- 
pel-plan — or in the disguised malice of a heart 
that partakes of the rancour of the Lost. Be- 



40 LETTEHS TO AST 

lieve me, this language is not too strong. The 
passions of a bosom unreconciled to God, are 
never displayed under more plausible pretexts, 
or with more decided energy, than when they 
are called into action by an example of piety, 
warning while it enlightens the conscience — 
or by an instance of departure from worldli- 
ness, forming a gap in the circle of association 
that may more admonish of danger, than the 
very instructions of the Sanctuary, Yes; if 
the Inquirer would ponder these truths, of 
which he may have the clearest conviction, 
every hand that would oppose his progress 
would appear to beckon him on. 

Religion is indeed the only sure basis of do- 
mestic peace. But whenever it comes in con- 
tact with a spirit of worldliness, or threatens 
to encroach upon its territory, we are to pre- 
dict nothing less than the fulfilment of the Re- 
deemer's prophecy — " For I am come, to set 
a man at variance against his father, 
and the daughter against her mother, and 
the daughter-in-law against her mother-in- 
law"* 

To an affectionate bosom, it must be ad- 
mitted, there is a peculiar painfulness in a situ- 

* Matthew, x; 35. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 41 

ation which involves a contest between natu- 
ral attachment and Christian principles, or 
convictions of duty. And it is far more than 
possible that it has often thwarted the great 
purpose that appeared to have begun in the 
bosom. But to all this, my dear friend, may 
you be able to say, — "none of these things 
move me, neither count I my life dear unto 
myself, so that I might finish my course with 
joy."* To you, a voice has come significant 
and earnest, as that to one in former days: 
"Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, 
neither stay thou in all the plain."t 

In some instances of severe opposition, the 
fault may be, in a considerable measure, in the 
Inquirer himself. His own conduct may pro- 
voke an array of hostility where it would not, 
otherwise, have appeared. Let me then sub- 
join the following injunctions : 

Jlvoid all that unnecessary appearance of 
gloom, which may be mistaken for austerity, 
or may give rise to a suspicion of rooted me- 
lancholy. The effort to exhibit a hilarity which 
you do not feel, and which would be produc- 
tive of mischief, in your present state of mind, 
even if unfelt, is certainly one extreme. But 

* Acts, xx, 24. t Gen. xix, 17. 



42 LETTERS TO AK 

a cultivated dejection of countenance, or air, 
is another, which may be injurious to your- 
self, as well as to others. And there are those 
who have been induced to form an artificial 
aspect of sorrow, by the hope that the artifice 
may sober and depress their own f elings. 
This is nothing less than a species of hypocri- 
sy. On the other hand, sedateness and sobri- 
ety of deportment will be perfectly compatible 
with that amenity of demeanour, which So- 
ciety has a right to claim from us all. You 
owe much to the happiness of others around 
you: Never, therefore, unnecessarily infringe 
it. But especially, you owe it to your God, 
to avoid subjecting his cause to an imputation 
which it does not deserve. It was an excellent 
answer — if understood within its proper limi- 
tations — which was given by a Minister of 
State,* to one who rallied him on his serious- 
ness in the midst of the festivities of a Court: 
"While we laugh, my friends, all things are 
serious around us. God is serious, who ex- 
ercises such patience towards us; Christ is 
serious, who shed his blood for us. The 
Holy Ghost is serious, who strives against 
the obstinacy of our hearts. The Scriptures 

" Sir Francis Walsingham. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 43 

are serious, in all that they say. All that 
are in Heaven or Hell are serious. May 
Man then, trifle, whose doom is settling 
every moment?" And it was, perhaps, a 
still better reply given by one who had been 
reproached for his visible distress: " It is not 
religion that renders me sad, or that has 
ever rendered another sad; it is the want of 
religion which I mourn." A distinction 
which our worldly friends are not apt to re- 
member. 

Again: If ever it become necessary to de- 
fend the views you have adopted as your own, 
and to which despondency is so often imputed, 
do so with all that gentleness of spirit, which 
may win others, while it is a safeguard to 
yourself One of the most lovely effects of 
Christian prudence which I have ever known, 
arose from the conduct of a young friend, 
whose temper was naturally irrascible^ and 
whose love of victory in argument was para- 
mount in his bosom: and who under distress 
for the fate of his soul, displayed a manner af- 
fectionate and patient, in opposition to numer- 
ous efforts to harass and discourage him — 
M Why," — said his brother, after an ill-timed 
charge on his principles — " Why are you not 



44 LETTERS TO AN 

now as desirous of victory as in former 
times?" In a subdued tone, he replied, 
"the cause was that of my own vanity: the 
present cause is Christ's: I was alone in the 
first: Omnipotence will take care of the se- 
cond." It may have been manner — or, if 
you please, it was the coptrast between past 
and present feeling, so visible here, that pro- 
duced so powerful an effect. Certain it is, 
the aggressor, without being repelled, was dis- 
armed. His weapons were melted down; and 
his heart was melted with them. The brothers 
soon sustained a nearer relation to each other, 
than ever, in the family of the Redeemer. 

May we, my friend, always display less so- 
licitude to fortify opinions of our own, how- 
ever just they may be, than to extend the cause 
of Christ, by an example that shall be u a liv- 
ing epistle." If there be a power on earth, of 
all others most adapted to disarm opposition to 
the truth of God, it is such a one as I have just 
presented to your sight; and such an example 
is likely to be visible in ourselves in propor- 
tion as we study our own hearts, and look with 
intentness to the Cross. 

There is, sometimes, a species of negative 
opposition — if 1 may so call it — of which the 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 45 

Inquirer bitterly complains: I mean that of 
the apparent indifference of professors of reli- 
gion to the state of his mind. Deepened anx- 
iety may have supplanted any scruples of deli- 
cacy which had previously existed; and he 
may have expected that sympathy which sorrow 
frequently claims, and, in his disappointment, 
imagine an utter unconcern in his behalf. I 
have already referred to the possibility of such 
a disappointment. But let me now add, that 
even this is conducive to the benefit of the sin- 
cere penitent. If it lead him to exclaim, " no 
man cared for my soul!"— if it overwhelm 
him with a renewed feeling of hopelessness, it 
may, and it will, more effectually unite, and 
concentrate, the powers of his mind in " the 
Hope of Israel." When it is remembered how 
nominal is the profession of many who " have 
a name to live;" and how even the zeal of the 
Christian may decline, — any such disappoint- 
ment, painful as it is, can be no fair cause of 
discouragement. It is indeed melancholy to 
see that supineness so much at variance with 
an active love of the Redeemer, in those from 
whom we should not have expected it; and at 
a time when it operates with such a repulsive 

power. But this has no necessary connexion 
G2 



46 LETTERS TO AN 

with our own interests. A great matter is 
pending between God and our own souls; and 
nothing without should divert our attention a 
moment from it. 

In concluding this Letter, 1 would observe 
that there is no inconsistency greater than that 
of relinquishing the pursuit of salvation, on ac- 
count of any external circumstances which 
may be in the way. To suppose that we are 
ever at liberty to wait, until " a more conveni- 
ent season" shall present fewer difficulties, is 
to imagine ourselves in an anomalous condi- 
tion, in which we are at liberty to stand apart 
from the invitations of the Gospel — a condition 
in which enmity of heart to divine grace is le- 
galized — the laws of God suspended, and their 
penalty withdrawn. It is the whole of this 
which is implied in the excuse which the sin- 
ner finds in the ordinary obstacles produced by 
his circumstances in life. 

Never suffer yourself to pause for a single 
moment, to magnify obstacles that may be in 
your way. You can now form some affecting 
estimate of the value of the soul. Ask, then, 
of your own understanding — can He who bids 
you to his mercy, frame for you a yoke so op- 
pressive that you are obliged to decline it, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 47 

even at the peril of the soul? Can He, whose 
holy Word gives assurance to the sincere In- 
quirer, that " as his days so shall his strength 
be" — can He speak an invitation, well know- 
ing that there are difficulties too serious to be 
within the possibility of removal? Is he capa- 
ble of such mockery to the wants of a fallen 
creature? Oh let us ever be careful that our 
suspicions do not impugn the majesty of Jeho- 
vah! Go freely to One who is able to take off 
the burden of your cares. Recollect that what- 
ever difficulties appear in your way, he that 
divided the waters of old, can open a passage 
for you to the Heavenly Canaan. In every 
apprehension remember — u there hath no 
temptation taken you but such as is common 
to man: but God is faithful who will not suffer 
you to be tempted above that you are able; but 
will with temptation also make a way to escape, 
that you may be able to bear it." 
I am truly, 

Yours, &c. 



48 LETTERS TO AN 



LETTER III. 

Those difficulties which are of least importance most generally discourag- 
ing—Impatience arising from disappointed expectations— A complaint 
— Its causes — The dread of increasing anxiety — A false conclusion — 
Evils arising from natural buoyancy of feeling— Difficulty in the doc- 
trine of Election— Inclination and despair aid each other — "I am seek- 
ing," a false plea—" I am waiting for a day of power"—-" I am waiting 
for God to do his part." 

MY DEAR SIR, 

Suffer me to add a few words more to 
some remarks in my last letter. 

I will commence with a position which, to 
me, appears worthy of serious reflection; it is 
this — the temptations to which the awakened 
sinner is exposed are inconsiderable and 
weak, in proportion to the sincerity and 
earnestness with which he sets out. When 
his mind was entirely engrossed in worldli- 
ness, it seized with avidity on the most con- 
temptible objections to evangelical truth: and 
the smallest of these might have been sufficient, 
at times, to satisfy an understanding vitiated 
by sensual habits and taste. But when the re- 
monstrances of the Holy Spirit are brought to 
bear, in some measure, on the mind and the 
conscience, such objections disappear, and per- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 49 

plexities of a different character arise in their 
place. And the magnitude of these will de- 
pend on the same rule, whether they arise from 
the state of the Inquirer's mind, or from the 
agency of his spiritual adversary. He who 
never pays a higher price for the soul than his 
victim demands, and who met the venality of 
a Judas with thirty pieces of silver, because he 
asked no more, uses the same economy of 
means in the difficulties with which he would 
dishearten the sinner who has been led to a 
partial seriousness. Have you not remarked 
how fully this position is exemplified among 
Inquirers ? Have you not observed that more 
abandon the pursuit of salvation in consequence 
of petty obstructions, than on account of those 
more imposing? And does it not prove that 
the true state of the difficulty is to be found in 
the affections or desires of the Inquirer? I am 
persuaded it is so; and that causes which dis- 
courage many, have little or no influence on 
others. 

Let us examine some of those evils to which 
a failure is so often to be attributed. We will 
begin with one of the most common — the im- 
patience arising from disappointed expecta- 
tions. 



50 LETTERS TO AN 

We will suppose the Inquirer to be con- 
versant with the general invitations of the 
Gospel; sensible that his natural condition is 
not one of safety, and determined to relinquish 
it. He begins a change in some of his habits; 
and commences the practice of prayer: attends 
with regularity on all the public means of grace: 
takes up some religious works: frequently con- 
sults the Bible; and devotes a set part of his 
time to serious thought. Days, and perhaps 
weeks, pass by; and as far as he can discover, 
he has not arrived a single step nearer his ob- 
ject: But if any conclusion be drawn, it is that 
he is further off than ever. How is all this? 
The simple truth is, he has engaged in a course 
for which he has no cordial inclination. His 
taste is repugnant to the task he has enjoined 
upon himself; and instead of being altered, as 
he had hoped, by his new employment, con- 
tinues averse as ever. The novelty of experi- 
ment wearing off, every effort he makes in- 
creases the sensation of drudgery. There is 
no spring of action; no powerful motive; and 
nothing to give life to desire. The schemes 
which fancy had formed, and the prospects it 
had presented, like all other imaginary things, 
pass away: and he perpetually asks — " is this 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 51 

the fruit of my labour? — I have done all that 
God has directed me to do; but 1 have done it 
in vain. I see none of the divine power I was 
taught to expect. It is useless to prosecute the 
attempt." 

How different is all this from his first antici- 
pations! The short suspense, and then the 
peace in prayer — the comfort which was to 
flow on to his soul as he advanced — the plea- 
sure of communion with God, after he had shed 
a few tears, deemed as honourable to himself 
as they were to be effectual to the end of his 
pardon — it was for these he was looking. 

Oh there is as much that is visionary, in the 
conceptions of many, respecting this whole 
matter, as there is in the regions of romance; 
as much that is unreal and fictitious. And 
when the search for all this has failed, the sin- 
ner is disconcerted; a mortified feeling ensues: 
or a gradual and thoughtless relapse to matters 
more congenial; with an effective, but not pain- 
ful, despair; and a settling down with the aban- 
donment of all present expectations. 

It is easy to decide that there has been no 
real anxiety here. But, then, what was the 
obstruction in the way of this Inquirer ? Why 
did not a course which is most commonly pre- 



52 LETTERS TO AN 

scribed, as the ordinary means of grace, end 
more favourably? Why should all such pains and 
care be unavailing? I will tell you: This man 
overlooked the whole conditions of salvation. 
Neither faith nor repentance were presented to 
his mind. The track he was pursuing may in- 
deed be called part of the ordinary means of 
grace: but he had no heart for the engagement 
in which he was occupied. It was altogether 
a work of mechanical effort. This is evident 

41 

from the fact that he could have proceeded a 
very short distance, without becoming, in some 
measure, better acquainted with himself; or 
without discovering inducements to surrender 
himself at once to the Saviour. But to any 
knowledge which he might have obtained of 
his state, he paid no attention : On the contrary, 
he sedulously avoided a near approach to the 
truth. Let me illustrate this, by a review of the 
circumstances as they occurred: He saw dis- 
tinctly that his heart was not right, if he saw 7 no 
more: for the formality of his whole conduct 
must have made this plain. He was enabled, 
too, to discover that his conceptions of divine 
truth were gross; that he had no just sense of 
sin; that there was an awful distance between 
himself and a reconciled God; and that the 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 53 

very feeling which occupied his bosom, on the 
failure of his hopes, betrayed a heart at va- 
riance with holiness. 

If he saw no more, it was in his power to as- 
certain all this. But he acted on no part of it. 
He would have overleaped all that was inter- 
mediate between the first thought of religion 
and the evidences of a renewed soul. Evi- 
dences of another description — those of a latent 
depravity — he would not examine. With the 
same inattention, he saw his natural helpless- 
ness. His growing distaste of devotion when 
the novelty of his pursuit was past, and his sad 
heartlessness in it before, ought to have indi- 
cated more than they did, and to have taught 
him a practical lesson of infinite value. But if 
he learned, it was only to misapply. He still 
laboured for — he knew not what; while he 
gathered no new motives for earnestness, or for 
directing his investigation into his own heart. 
Where, then, was the fault? Did he not evade 
the conviction which might have brought him, 
as a penitent, to God ? And while conscience 
sometimes accused him of this, did he not re- 
treat from the accusation, and secretly hope 
that some peculiar way would be found out 
for him — some distinguishing favour bestowed, 

H 



54 LETTERS TO AN 

— which selfishness is ever ready to promise 
even at the cost of the terms of the Gospel? 
Oh what hypocrisy of dealing may be seen 
flowing from the reasonings of a selfish heart! 
How much that lurks within him, he would 
conceal from his own sight! and how much are 
all his sacrifices, and the temper with which 
they are offered, like those of him who frown- 
ed on Heaven, because Heaven stood aloof 
from his self-complacent spirit!* 

Let me repeat what I have already hinted, 
— and 1 may have reason to apply to other in- 
stances — that, in the case before us, the In- 
quirer has no defined object in view. He is 
led to serious thought, but it is to no distinct 
purpose. He is in the condition of one who 
hears a vague report of personal alarm, without 
being able to conjecture its meaning; or its na- 
ture; desiring to anticipate the evil, without 
knowing where to direct his energies. Yet 
even from him, this Inquirer differs in one un 
happy respect: Such a man would examine all 
that could throw light on the truth: He would 
meet intelligence half-way. Not so here. 
There is a want of that candour to himself, 
which even the law of self-preservation should 

* Gen. iv. 5. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 55 

suggest And he continues brooding, with a 
half-affected sorrow, over an indefinite evil. 
Andj perhaps, uttering secret murmurs to him- 
self, which tend as much to harass his mind as 
to alienate his soul still more from his God. 
Has one in this situation a right to complain of 
his failure ? Has he not stood back from the 
accomplishment of his own end ? The adage 
of one who understood the heart is too easily 
verified — "the foolishness of man perverteth 
his way: and his heart fretteth against the 
Lord."* 

But we will imagine such a one to have ad- 
vanced further. We will suppose him to have 
seen enough to know that a more serious de- 
velopment awaits him: and that, if he continue 
his pursuit, he must encounter the spectacle of 
moral deformity which an unrenewed spirit al- 
ways exhibits. He sees enough to create an 
alarm, — not on account of his danger, but on 
account of the pain which will accompany per- 
severance in his investigation. It is a present 
ill which he dreads. The terrors of Eternity 
are removed still further off, while he is en- 
grossed with these apprehensions. If he go 
on, he must suffer: — and he has arrived at a 
point of reflection near enough to obtain some 

* Prov. xix. 3. 



56 LETTERS TO AN 

general idea what that suffering would be; and 
to see that the path to Calvary may be one of 
distress; that the call which invites him to 
Christ is one which reminds him of wretched- 
ness and guilt. And that the act of obeying it 
must be one of self-abasement. To proceed, 
then, is, as it were, in search of sorrow. " If' 7 — 
says one in such a state — " if faith, and re- 
pentance would come of themselves, — or if 
conviction would bring, at once, that distress 
which would as immediately procure the fa- 
vour of Christ, I should be satisfied to en- 
counter it. But to go on making painful dis- 
coveries — becoming the executioner of my 
peace — it is requiring too much." 

And w T hat heart burnings ensue! And the 
secret thought is, " God ought to do more to 
help me!" 

Now there are two reasons why this man 
gives up the important question before him: 
One of these, I have already said, is the dread 
of present suffering — the natural disposition 
to postpone a day of distress. He had been in- 
structed to approach the Saviour directly; but 
no sooner had he seen a part of the path he 
was to have travelled, than he relinquished the 
design. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 57 

The second reason is found in a feeling com- 
mon to this state of mind; and may be ex- 
pressed in the following language — " I have 
certainly made some discovery into the state 
of my heart: 1 have arrived within a certain 
distance of my object: I can reach this point 
again at pleasure. It is some satisfaction to 
see what 1 can do. I am encouraged, there- 
fore, to return to the world." 

A third case may be found in that buoyancy 
of feeling which so easily rises, after a mo- 
mentary depression, higher than ever: that 
temper, which, unless grief give it sobriety, it 
is difficult to arrest long enough to effect any 
important purpose. In such an instance, serious 
impressions come and go at the call of a trifle. 
But they come as the light cloud which flings 
a shadow over the gaieties of the heart: and the 
little circumstance of external temptation — 
joined, as it always is, to the reluctance of an 
unsanctified heart to the scheme of grace — re- 
moves them again. The remembrance of a 
favourite amusement — so unlike the present 
unwelcome sobriety — disheartens and dis- 
courages: and even the thought of a frivolous 
jest whets the appetite again for worldly amuse- 
ments. This is a lamentable state, in which 
h2 



58 LETTERS TO AN 

the hopes of an immortal soul remain at the 
mercy of a petty incident. But the considera- 
tion of tjiat very truth ought to furnish an in- 
ducement to more substantial resolutions, and 
to create a more effectual alarm of danger. 

Unhappily, this is not always the effect. 
The m'ind of such a man easily deceives him. 
After having once abandoned the pursuit, he 
may return to it again with more earnestness: 
and with some additional hope from his former 
experience. And he may do so again, and 
again — for such a mind is the only one liable 
to frequent awakenings — but we may see him, 
in every instance, deciding against himself, 
with the plea of the utter impossibility of suc- 
cess. Yet is it not acquired habits of which he 
is complaining, or on which he charges all his 
difficulty ? — habits, which, if they stand in the 
way of his spiritual welfare, are equally sinful 
and dangerous: And which are as certainly pre- 
paring their harvest of future remorse as those 
more positive and flagrant. It is indeed a hap- 
less spectacle which the Inquirer here displays; 
when, like the idolatrous Jew, in whom the 
strength of habitual sin was too great for his 
convictions, he exclaims, — u there is no hope; 
no; I have loved idols, and after them will I 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 59 

go!" But, if he took pains to examine the 
feelings with which this plaint is uttered, his 
conclusion would be more unhappy than he 
now suffers it to be. Let us look at it, in pass- 
ing, — for its frequency, in one form or other, 
renders it worthy of notice. 

There are two principles here which afford 
each other mutual strength — Inclination and 
Despair: Inclination to return to the world 
brings a plea from despair of success in the 
inquiry; and this despair of success en- 
courages the inclination. It is the apology 
for vice which we may hear every day. " My 
habits," says the drunkard, " are too strong to 
be broken." "My passions," says the sen- 
sualist, "are too powerful to be withstood." 
"My love of frivolity," says another, "is too 
firmly fixed to be shaken." I know there 
may be a sadness of heart with which such an 
apology is uttered: But then it is counter- 
balanced by a secret pleasure in returning to 
more congenial engagements, in w T hich it is 
soon lost or forgotten. 

Now, I would appeal to such a one, whether 
this be not the sensation with which he aban- 
dons his inquiry for salvation ? And while he 
would find little reason to hesitate in reply, he 



60 LETTERS TO AN 

might see a powerful motive to awaken him 
to a more permanent sense of danger, in a con- 
sciousness that it is a love of sin which holds 
him back from the Gospel. It is ignorance of 
this truth, — or indifference to it, which suffers 
him to pass so easily again to listlessness and 
folly. 

There is another difficulty, which deserves 
some consideration; not only because it is a 
misrepresentation of an important doctrine, 
but because it affords what is considered a plau- 
sible pretext, in the sight of many : I mean a 
difficulty originating in a misconstruction of 
the doctrine of Election. This is not only a 
stumbling block in the way of the Inquirer, 
but it is an excuse of frequency in the mouths 
of the careless. The complaints of the two are 
substantially the same, although they may dif- 
fer in form. The latter is expressed somewhat 
as follows: — " If 1 am elected, I shall be saved ; 
if not, it is useless to apply for salvation. " 
The former affirms that an effort has been 
made; and an unfavourable conclusion is drawn 
from its failure. "I have tried; but in vain. 
1 see 1 am not elected, and therefore I dismiss 
the subject." 

Is it not strange that men who, in other con- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 61 

cerns, are not deficient in good sense, should 
make the secret counsels of God a rule of 
action ? That they should profess to be go- 
verned by a law of which they are confessedly 
ignorant ? That they should discard, in their 
spiritual affairs, the simple process of reasoning 
which they adopt in the common things of 
life? Or shall we account for all this, by affirm- 
ing that the careless neither mean nor believe 
what they say ? And that the Inquirer intends 
only to avow the weariness of his pursuit? We 
have great reason to believe this. And if it be 
indeed so, what wickedness does not this 
trifling evince ! What horrible impiety in ut- 
tering a known falsehood under circumstances 
rendered solemn by the loud calls of the Holy 
Spirit! 

To either objector, the following questions 
and remarks may be worthy of some thought: 

It must be admitted that you are left to the 
choice of holiness or sin: you are at liberty, so 
far as your free agency is concerned, to adopt 
a worldly or spiritual line of conduct. Expe- 
rience and Scripture coincide in this position. 
The freedom of the will is not a matter in dis- 
pute. But if your difficulties on the subject of 
predestination were consistent with each other. 



62 LETTERS TO AN 

you would reason thus: — "I am fore-ordained 
to the commission of good or evil; I know not 
which; but until I can ascertain this, I will 
make no choice of either." And the conse- 
quence would be, at least an honest effort to 
avoid iniquity. Now no such reasoning, or 
effort, ensues. You continue in the way of 
the transgressor. And, in doing so, you are 
deliberately fixing your own destiny. Is your 
complaint, then, any thing less than a cover of 
hypocrisy — a cloak thrown over the desires of 
a depraved and treacherous heart? 

Again: you can not find any decree which 
forbids your acting righteously, or that can ex- 
tinguish a desire of salvation in your bosom. 
What, then, has this doctrine to do in the ques- 
tion before you? All the invitations of the 
Gospel are distinct from it; they are never 
given with a design that we should pry into 
the secret counsels of God, in order to discover 
their application to us; and those counsels can 
never contradict them. 

Take the following case: A Ruler offers par- 
don to certain rebellious subjects, on condition 
that they lay down their arms. Some of them 
comply, and are pardoned. One refuses, and 
his reason is — " I am not among the number 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 63 

whom the Sovereign designed to save, and it 
is therefore useless to accept the terms of for- 
giveness." Now would you not say of this 
man, that he falsifies the assertions of the gra- 
cious Ruler; and multiplies his own guilt? But 
the offers of our Divine Sovereign are not less 
explicit; and the conduct of the rejecting sin- 
ner is not less flagrant. 

Why do you conclude with such certainty, 
that you are not among the elect? Has any 
one revealed this awful truth? — if not, your 
conclusion has no higher origin than con- 
jecture. And what is this but a criminal in- 
termeddling, or a fanciful trifling with things 
belonging only to God? If such a conjecture 
detains you from the love of Jesus Christ, is it 
not criminal?- Are you not destroying your 
own soul with weapons of your own fabrica- 
tion? 

The Holy Scriptures, as well as the econo- 
my of the divine government, abundantly 
prove that non-election can never be the ground 
of condemnation. God will judge us by our 
own works, and not by his secret decrees. The 
doom of the lost will be, because they "love 
darkness rather than light" — because they pre- 
fer iniquity to holiness. 



64 LETTERS TO AN 

In a practical sense, at least, the following 
expostulation, which Milton puts into the 
mouth of the Creator, is applicable here: 

Nor can justly accuse 



Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, 
As if predestination overruled 
Their will dispos'd by absolute decree 
Or high foreknowledge ; they themselves decreed 
Their own revolt, not I ; if I foreknew, 
Foreknowledge had no influence o,n their fault, 
Which had no less prov'd certain unforeknown. 
So without least impulse or shadow of fate, 
Or ought by me immutable foreseen, 
They trespass, authors to themselves in all 
Both what they judge and what they choose. 

Can it be true that, " whosoever shall call on 
the name of the Lord shall be saved" — and 
that God " commandeth all men every where 
to repent," and yet secretly means to reject the 
prayer of the penitent ? If it be so, then you 
have a singular ground of security: — for the 
condemnation is, that the sinner wilfully re- 
fuses the offer of salvation; whereas no such of- 
fer was made to you; or, it was not in your 
power to accept it. Are you prepared to take 
this plea to the Judgment seat? — would you 
not shudder at a presumption so high, and so 
daring? 

In any such instance as this, it should be re- 
membered that there can not be a serious sense 
of danger — any deep conviction of sin — or any 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 65 

sincere desire to be saved, on the terms of the 
Gospel. All declarations to the contrary are 
either a vain pretence, or they arise from a 
most culpable ignorance of the heart. This is 
plain from the truth of a remark already made 
— that the speciousness of a difficulty is a test 
of the sincerity of the Inquirer. The man who 
is sincere would endeavour to look directly to 
the object of his wants. He would be aware 
that he has not time, — and he would not pos- 
sess inclination- — to occupy his mind with mat- 
ters unrevealed. Or, if a suspicion of this na- 
ture flashed before him, it would lead to a more 
diligent search after the truth, and end in a 
better knowledge of his condition, as a sinner. 
But, contrary to this, there is here an impor- 
tant and most dangerous defect, which, while 
it darkens the prospects of the soul, aggravates 
the doom which is likely to follow. The truth 
of this position will be manifest if we consider 
the following statement: 

A failure in the attempt to lay hold of the 
hope of salvation, implies a fault somewhere; 
either on the part of the Inquirer, or on that 
of his God. But the Inquirer exculpates him- 
self, and declares that he " has done all in his 
power; — that his desires have been serious/ 7 



66 LETTERS TO AN 

The fault, then, is charged upon the Head of 
the Universe. Is there not something horri- 
ble in this ? And is not the disposition which 
dares undertake it, proudly rebellious, and 
wholly unfit for the reception of favour ? — I do 
not mean merely undeserving, but in a state 
unsuited to the operations of mercy. And 
does not this very failure disclose its own cause, 
by bringing into play so unhallowed, so selfish, 
and so petulant a temper? A temper that 
would 

" Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod, 
" Rejudge his justice, be the God of God." 

If he who thinks himself refused, would 
pause a moment, and ponder the effect that re- 
fusal has produced, it might not be impossible 
to discover the reason: — A discovery which 
might be of infinite importance to his spiritual 
interest, and, perhaps, the means of securing 
his end. The first step to truth is the removal 
of error: And this ill-success of the sinner 
might have shown him some essential error, if 
he examined its results in his own bosom. He 
would be, in consequence of this, nearer his 
object, and not further from it — nearer, be- 
cause he would see, more distinctly, both his 
danger and his wants. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 67 

I have said that inclination and despair, in 
certain states of mind, mutually assist each 
other, in the ruin of the soul. But what an 
awful state of heart should we sometimes see, 
if we could read the secret feelings of the In- 
quirer, when he abandons the hope before him ! 
We should behold — not the penetrating sor- 
row which tells the disappointment of a sad 
heart, and indicates its sincerity — but a latent 
satisfaction, — the high evidence of his hy- 
pocrisy. Hear the murmurer, in the pride of 
self-complacency, — " The fault is not mine; 1 
have no censure to attach to myself !" — Let us 
ask him, if there be not a self-gratulation on 
his return to w r orldliness and to folly? Oh what 
a mockery of the character and attributes of 
God! What a challenge to that wrath which 
bold impiety draws upon itself! And then 
what availed his resolutions, or his prayers ? 
A little delay has shown him that his conduct 
has been governed by false pretences; and that, 
instead of being ready to love the Redeemer, 
he was prepared to arraign his rectitude and 
truth! 

But an avowed abandonment is not univer- 
sal, even among those who appear to have lost 
interest in the subject. We hear some stating 



68 LETTERS TO AN 

their determination to continue their inquiry — - 
" I am seeking." — Few expressions are more 
illusive than this. It may be honestly uttered ; 
but is very frequently not so. And it is one 
of those instances of perverting Scripture lan- 
guage, which a common mistake has sanctioned: 
a mistake to which 1 shall advert hereafter. 
At present, I would say to such a one — " your 
interest in religion diminished in the failure of 
your expectations: you were unwilling to ad- 
mit to yourself that you were relinquishing all 
hope, — for this would have been a painful 
thought. You were determined to continue in 
the same round, of duties, although they were 
discharged with insensibility, and heartless- 
ness. This course you considered a kind of 
neutral agency; in which, if there were no 
comfort, there could be no danger. Here, too, 
you hoped that some light might gradually 
break in upon you: and you profess to " wait 
patiently " because it is the direction of the 
Word of God. But can this dealing be ap- 
proved? Will a heartless round of form lead 
you to that grace which you profess to be seek- 
ing ? And does not this very contentment, 
while you are without spiritual peace, tell 
against you ? You are seeking? — then it is for 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 69 

an object which you undervalue, and which 
excites no feeling of anxiety. There is dan- 
ger in your present situation, and that most 
imminent. It is not neutral ground on which 
you are standing. Every hour in which you 
remain out of Christ, you are increasing your 
guilt, and diminishing your hope of pardon. 
And the pretext with w r hich you would satisfy 
your conscience, is one which favours the na- 
tural inclinations of the heart." — And how 
frequent are the instances in which a death- 
like lethargy supervenes! All the little sensi- 
bility that had existed, perceptibly giving way 
to a conscious stupidity: the form of piety 
adopted, in the place of its principle: And the 
reluctance to confess to himself that he was re- 
turning to the world, gradually lost in its cares 
and its pleasures. 

In such an instance as this, in which the pur- 
suit, so called, may have continued for a long 
time, the most common result is that of em- 
bracing some doctrinal error. The nature of 
evangelical religion is questioned: so is that of 
a change of heart: or the latter is discredited 
altogether: and the self-satisfying reasoning is 
* — " 1 may have been mistaken in my expecta- 
tions. My anxiety has left me; but my pre- 
12 



70 } LETTERS TO AN 

sent peace may be the answer of prayer: and 
although I can not perceive any difference be- 
tween my present state, and that of some 
months since, excepting that habit has recon- 
ciled me more to outward forms, may I not be 
safe V 9 How readily is stupidity mistaken for 
a Heavenly peace, after remaining in such a 
condition as this! And 'how completely is the 
soul invested in an armour which no arrow of 
conviction can penetrate! 

Or, where this is not exactly the state of 
mind in which a long continuance of fruitless 
form has left the Inquirer, another plea is 
sometimes advanced, nearly as delusive and 
dangerous as the last. It is this: — " lam wait- 
ing for a day of power. I have seen that 
power displayed in the conversion of others. 
I continue in the way of it. 1 remain at the 
pool until the troubling of the waters." 

Nothing is more easy than to deceive a mind 
in the situation in which we have supposed this 
to be. Exhausted by its own vain exertions; 
wearied, and watching for some mystical ef- 
fect, the most foolish pretexts will bring on a 
relapse into indolence and inactivity. And 
the private reflection which serve to direct the 
attention from all possibility of danger, might 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 71 

frequently be read in such language as the fol- 
lowing: — " God must surely eye me with fa- 
vour, while I am waiting in patience for his 
will. And if he do not now grant me the ob- 
ject of my prayer, he will see the virtue of this 
patience, and remember me in his own good 
season !" Do you not see how much that is 
Pharisaical pervades all this? how much of an 
unhumbled and legal temper? and what er- 
roneous conceptions of the true state of the 
heart? Do you not see how carelessness and 
indifference are misnamed? How the sinner 
arrogates to himself a Christian virtue which 
is inseparable from faith in Jesus Christ, and 
builds upon it the expectation of divine fa- 
vour ? 

The prevalent mistake which is founded on 
the Scriptural expression, "a day of power," 
betokens a gross ignorance of the scheme of 
redemption. It supposes a particular period 
assigned by Eternal Counsel, in which alone 
the Holy Spirit is willing to work in the heart 
of the sinner — that period independent of any 
state of mind in which the sinner may be — and 
that, until then, all desire, or prayer, must be 
unavailing. 1 need not detain you by an ex- 
planation of this error, in its source, and in its 



72 LETTERS TO AN 

bearings. A single remark on a misconstrued 
phraseology will be* sufficient: All that time of 
the Saviour's administration, in what is called 
his exalted state, — in contra-distinction from 
what is called his "day of humiliation"* — is 
denominated his " day of power." And the 
time at which the sinner first believed, may be 
considered that in which divine power renewed 
his heart. And yet it is said to every sinner, 
" Now is the accepted time, now is the day of 
salvation." Be assured, then, that if he be an- 
ticipating some imaginary period, in which 
God is more willing to accept him, through 
Jesus Christ, he has embraced an error, which, 
the longer he holds it, will widen more the dis- 
tance between him and his Saviour. God de- 
mands the whole heart this very moment; and 
every instant, during which it is detained from 
him, sends up an additional report against the 
delinquent. 

To all this class of self-excusings, I would 
apply the remark of one, who, on a bed of 
illness was asked, "if he was waiting God's 
pleasure?" answered, " waiting implies being 
ready." There is much point in this. He 
who here professes to be waiting, depend upon 
it, is not ready. There may be very little dif- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 73 

ferenee between his state of mind, and that of 
him who stands aloof from salvation, with an 
apology which, if it do not indicate contemptu- 
ousness, argues a most sinful indifference — "I 
hope my time will one day come." 

There is another expression, corresponding 
with those I have already mentioned, and 
equally common: " I have done all that 1 was 
directed to do; I now remain until God shall 
do his part." If the utterer would take pains 
to examine the feelings with which this is said, 
he would see that they are liable to the same 
severe charge which we have applied to other 
excuses; — ignorance that is wilful, — petulance, 
— or a temporizing policy. It is of little im- 
portance which, while their tendency is to keep 
the sinner beyond the hope of salvation. Could 
it ever be said of any suppliant, — "you have 
done all that was demanded at your hands, and 
yet God has resolved to withhold his promised 
blessing? May we ever impeach his veracity 
with impunity? 

Much of the language which 1 have thus 
quoted, composes a part of that cant phraseolo- 
gy — if the term be permitted — so general in 
partial religious impressions. It is always 
founded on error: And is either the cause or 



74 LETTERS TO AN 

the effect of greater repugnance to the doctrines 
of the Cross. It is indeed surprising what ca- 
prices, and what follies, in the heart of the sin- 
ner, are brought to light, in the condition I am 
describing: What inconsistent notions! what 
absurd expectations! what impertinences! 
what perverse ideas of God! what wanton im- 
peachment of his holy character! And has 
such a man a claim upon the spiritual mercies 
of his Maker? — the very thing which he 
fancies to be his. And is God under an obli- 
gation to hear him? — the very thing he 
imagines him to be. 

Adieu, My Dear Sir. Dare to examine the 
dispositions of your mind. Tender it to the 
scrutiny of an Omniscient Being. Pray — and 
aict consistently with such a prayer — °* Search 
me, God, and know my heart; try me, and 
know my thoughts; and see if there be any 
wicked ways in me, and lead me in the way 
everlasting."* 

I am Yours, &c. 

• Psalms, cxxxix. 23 3 24. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 75 



LETTER. IV. 

Previous misconceptions — Cause of delay— Any delay or suffering, the 
fault of the sinner — Mistake relating to the necessity of a certain pre- 
paratory process — Scripture examples — Error relating to prayer — " I 
am not prepared" — "I am not holy enough" — The inconsistency of the 
complainer— On insensibility — Want of clear views of Sin — Degrees of 
conviction not necessary to be observed — Why conviction is more diffi- 
cult to be effected in a man of strict morality — The Gospel invites 
without reference to the degree of conviction. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

If a Heathen, who did not well under- 
stand the first principles of the Gospel, were 
awakened to some sense of his guilt, we might 
expect him to cry out, — " what shall I do to 
be saved V} But suppose a man whose home is 
in Christendom, and who had been well indoc- 
trinated in the truths of Christianity, yet igno- 
rant of its power in his own experience: — sup- 
pose him, for the first time, to make the fear- 
ful discovery of his lost condition, and of the 
necessity of personal reconciliation to his God: 
— would you not imagine the question wholly 
unnecessary on his part? Would you not sajr, 
that to him the path of the convicted soul would 
be plain — plain as a path in which "the way- 
faring men, though fools, need not err?" 






76 LETTERS TO AN 

Would you not believe that nothing could stand 
in his way to a direct approach to the author of 
salvation ? Yes; judging from common analogy, 
you could hardly doubt, that a mind thus in- 
structed, would know how to advance imme- 
diately to the Mercy-Seat. You would look 
for neither turnings nor windings, in a ques- 
tion that appears to carry its solution with it. 
See how we mistake! The plan that was so 
easy becomes intricate, the moment it applies 
to affairs of our own! The very rules we 
should have laid down for others, and in which 
we should have had every confidence, in their 
behalf, we are unable to reduce to practice for 
ourselves. 

How shall we account for this? Does con- 
viction darken the understanding ? Or does it 
enfeeble our abilities? Or why, otherwise, 
should we not appropriate to our own use, what 
we should have prescribed to others, in similar 
circumstances? 

This is not the place to solve these diffi- 
culties, although it might not be hard to do so. 
The truth, however, is as we have represented 
it — that competent as one thus instructed might 
believe himself, to teach others in a matter in 
which he has had no personal experience, he 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 77 

finds his ability sadly diminished when the case 
becomes his own. Instead of proceeding, with- 
out waiting for intermediate measures, directly 
to the Redeemer, we see him, from the first 
moment of anxiety, enveloped in perplexities 
of which he had not thought, and which he 
would have declared entirely extraneous from 
a sincere inquiry. And he may long linger in 
this embarrassment, equally unhappy and sin- 
ful as it is. 

The awakened sinner, who has been accus- 
tomed to the sight of others in a similar state 
of mind, is too apt to form conclusions from 
what he has thus seen or heard; and to consider 
exactly the same experience indispensable for 
himself. " He knew that such a one was a 
prey of distress, during a given space of time: 
that such and such was the conflict he sustained ; 
until, at last, the Redeemer pitied his suffer- 
ings, and granted an answer to his prayer." 
Now this whole representation is incorrect; 
and not only so, but its conclusion is fallacious. 
All which he heard, or saw, gave him no fair 
insight into the truth. The simple fact here, 
and in every one of those cases which are pre- 
sented in such a form as to lead to the inference 
that God is keeping the sinner at a distance to 

K 



78 LETTERS TO AW 

experiment on his feelings and disposition, is? 
as follows: — All delay arose from misconcep- 
tion of the truth as it is in the Gospel — from 
unwillingness to relinquish cherished sins — or 
from an unhallowed attempt to treat with the 
Creator on compromising terms. But never 
does it arise from any cause that is contra- 
dictory to the idea of a fr*eely tendered pardon; 
or which does not prove, and enhance, the 
guilt of the sinner. And, — it might be added, 
— all that pity which is so often expressed for 
the sufferer, by those around him, is usually 
misapplied: This sympathy, which wears so 
amiable an aspect, may, not unfrequently, be in 
behalf of a struggle discreditable to its subject; 
and in behalf of sorrows which have their ori- 
gin in enmity to God. 1 know there is an ap- 
parent sternness in this opinion: but it is in- 
separable from the Scriptural position — that 
all the fault of the sinner's delay is, exclu- 
sively, in himself 

Contrary to this, is that sentiment so gene- 
rally entertained, relative to the necessity of a 
certain preparatory process, which the sin- 
ner, it is supposed, must undergo, previous to 
his acceptance by a pardoning God. Hence 
we hear of necessary stages, in the course of 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 79 

inquiry: unavoidable goals which are to be suc- 
cessively reached. Now all this arises from 
transplanting the impediments and mistakes 
which had been in the way of one Inquirer, to 
that of another: or, from supposing that we 
are to make provision for mistakes, which are 
thus considered almost half justifiable because 
they are common: or, — still worse, it sup- 
poses the errors, and their corrections, of one 
man indispensable in another. And hence 
those multifarious directions which are some- 
times given to the Inquirer — as if he were un- 
der an absolute necessity of doing, or suffering, 
to a certain amount: hence those speculations 
on the precedence of the operation of certain 
feelings and graces: And hence many of those 
abstruser questions, which have been connected 
with the subject; and which belong rather to 
the philosophy of the human mind, than to the 
revealed doctrines of our blessed Saviour. Oh 
it is in vain, and worse than in vain, to at- 
tempt to reach those secret springs which move 
on the spirit, by divine command, to the 
activity of a new life. And it is absurd to 
ehalk oat a certain course of particular emo- 
tions, or cares, for every Inquirer. Adopt it 
rather, as a fundamental point of belief — as one 



80 LETTERS TO AN 

that is emphatic, and of practical value, — that, 
whatever the situation in which the Holy < 
Spirit may find the sinner, in respect either to 
external circumstances, or the state of his heart, 
that is the situation in which he is bound to 
surrender himself at once to his God. The 
correctness of this is plain from the very design 
of dispensing mercy; which is, not to bring to 
light any thing acceptable in the Creature, for 
he has nothing that is so — but to reveal the 
perfections of God in the gift of pardon, even 
to the most vile, through his Son Jesus Christ. 
And any thing which the Inquirer may be 
taught, or may do, against this design, is 
against his own interest and the honour of his 
Maker. 

Apostolic example, on this subject, is wor- 
thy of attention : When the preaching of Peter, 
on the day of Pentecost, awakened thousands 
to a sense of their guilt, he did not wait for 
any interval to complete a preparatory pro- 
cess; but carried their attention immediately to 
Him whom they had crucified.* And after- 
wards, when the same Apostle charged others 
of that infatuated people with the murder of 
Messiah, without delaying to ascertain the ef- 

• Acts. iii. 12—26. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 8i 

feet of this accusation on their minds, he bids 
them repent; and, in the same breath, proclaims 
the hope of pardon.* Such too was the course 
adopted by the Apostle Paul, in Antioch.t 
These inspired men certainly knew well that 
a direction to any intermediate experience be- 
tween the knowledge of the truth and its ac- 
ceptance, would have kept the sinner in an un- 
necessary suspense, while it attached an uncer- 
tainty to the scheme of the Gospel. 

In full consistency with this, the design of 
the Saviour may be discovered in some of the 
instructions which fell from his own lips. Let 
us take the example of the Prodigal Son: I 
know that the interpretation of this Parable is 
generally supposed to refer to the Jews and 
Gentiles — the former being the elder, and the 
latter the younger son— and that therefore, as 
relating to the external kingdom of Christ, 
it can not apply to individual experience, ex- 
cept, as Divines say, "by way of accommoda- 
tion." The moral which is drawn from it, in 
this interpretation, is, I have no doubt, con- 
sistent with the truth: but not w r ith the design 
which our Lord seems to have had before him. 
The whole context refers to the murmuring 

* Acta, iv. 11, 12. t Acts, xiii. 24— 4L 

k2 



82 LETTERS TO AN 

of the Pharisees, because Publicans and Sinners 
were admitted into association with Christ. 
And it is, therefore, literally the returning sin- 
ner who is represented in the Prodigal Son. 
In this beautiful Parable, the penitent child 
"comes to himself. " Unsatisfied wants, and 
the danger of starvation, stare him in the face. 
He has the sense of a truth of which his judg- 
ment might have convinced him before. And 
what is the consequence? does he linger? 
Does he wait to make himself better fitted to 
receive compassion ? No : the truth of his own 
sad condition and the ability of his Parent to 
relieve him from it, come home together to his 
bosom: and his determination is, — " I will 
arise!" — to do what? to carry apologies to his 
father? no: to sav, " 1 have sinned." But the 
most interesting point in the tale, is that which 
follows — His father saw him "a great way 
off;" and with all the eagerness of parental af- 
fection, hastens to meet him. The conscious- 
ness of the sinner that he is " a great way off;" 
gives no reason why he should stay there, or 
why he may not be met by a merciful Saviour. 
This case certainly supposes the sorrow of the 
penitent, and that for sin committed against an 
affectionate parent: yet is it of practical appli- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 83 

cation to the awakened sinner in the first mo- 
ment of his anxiety. 

But lest there should be some remaining 
doubt in your mind, whether something meri- 
torious, and of self-made preparation, should 
not be accomplished by the Inquirer, previous 
to his approach to the cross, 1 would go even 
further, and say, that if no uneasiness had been 
created in the bosom, and if he had been only 
this instant warned of his iniquity, and ad- 
monished to repent without delay, such an ad- 
monition is not to be parted from the perad- 
venture of pardon. 

Take another Scriptural example: An un- 
principled man is rebuked by one of the Apos- 
tles, with a spirit and power which awed and 
confounded him. The culprit had committed 
a crime, which to this day bears his name: But 
the pungency of reproof was not permitted to 
go by itself. He was commanded to repent, 
and " pray God" for forgiveness.* Now such 
a direction as this was a mission to the Re- 
deemer directly. It was sending him imme- 
diately for pardon, to the very One he had of- 
fended. No obstacle was supposed in his way, 
unless it be that of moral inability. No ex- 
Acts, viii. 22. 



84 LETTERS TO AN 

traordinary task was proposed. And every 
moment of delay, under any pretence, would 
have been increasing his guilt and his danger. 
How exceedingly out of place, then, would 
have been any of those questions which are 
often agitated on this subject? — whether such 
a person be capable of prayer? — or whether, 
with a temper so estranged from God, attempt- 
ing such an exercise would not be mockery? 
In the present instance, the direction was most 
probably given through the inspiration of the 
Holy Ghost himself. 

I am aware that from the Scriptural truth, 
— the prayers of the wicked are an abomina- 
tion to the Lord* — it has been argued that 
the unrenewed man ought not to attempt such 
an act: and that if he did so, it must be unac- 
ceptable to his Maker: And the alarmed sinner 
himself will sometimes dread the danger of 
adding to his sinfulness by calling upon his 
pure and holy Creator. And yet it is certain 
that the advice which commends him at once 
to Jesus Christ, as his only hope, is a direction 
to prayer. It is indeed perfectly true that the 
natural heart is far from being an object of 
complacency with God. And it is not less 
* Then is no such passage. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 85 

true, that much of the distress which he en- 
counters, and much of his mortified feeling un- 
der serious impressions, arise from a rebellious 
disposition, and an obstinate temper of unbelief. 
And, so far as these exist, he is under the 
frown, and not the compassion of his God: 
And the sympathy which a pious bosom would 
entertain for him would be no other than that 
which it would manifest towards the infatuated 
devotee of sin, who continues in crime while 
he is reaping its fruits of sorrow. But then on 
the other hand, the earnest desire for salvation 
from ruin — implanted as it is by nature, and 
aroused as it is under conviction — is surely not 
offensive to our Maker. And so far as this 
alone is concerned, he is truly an object of pity 
both to the Christian and his God. 

A quotation from a late learned Divine oc- 
curs to me, as of so much importance, on this 
part of our subject, as to merit transcription: 

"The prayers of convinced sinners, it is 
said, are insincere, and therefore abominable 
to God. In answer to this objection, 1 ob- 
serve, that a sinner whether convinced or not, 
may undoubtedly pray with insincerity, in all 
instances; but there is no invincible necessity, 
that his prayers should always be insincere, 



86 LETTERS TO AN 

notwithstanding he is a sinner. A sinner may 
from a sense of his danger and misery, pray 
as sincerely to be saved from that danger and 
misery as a saint His disposition, I acknow- 
ledge, is still sinful; and his prayers are wholly 
destitute of moral goodness. But the mere 
wish to be saved from suffering is neither sin- 
ful nor holy. On the contrary, it is merely 
the instinctive desire of every percipient being; 
without which he would cease to be a perci- 
pient being. That there is any thing hateful 
to God in this wish, whether expressed in 
prayer or not, 1 can not perceive, nor do 1 find 
it declared either by Reason, or Revelation. It 
may indeed be united with other desires, and 
those either virtuous or sinful; according to the 
prevailing character of the mind in which it 
exists; and the whole state of the mind may be 
accordingly denominated either virtuous, or 
sinful. Still this desire is neither morally good, 
nor morally evil; and therefore, neither pleas- 
ing, nor displeasing, as such, in the sight of 
God. 

" That God pities sinners as mere sufferers 
will not be doubted: Otherwise he would 
not have sent his Son to redeem them from 
sin and misery. That he pities them more, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 87 

when strongly affected with a sense of their 
guilt and misery, than when at ease in both, 
will, I think, be readily believed. The sin- 
ner is certainly not less an object of compas- 
sion, but much more, when feeling the evils 
in which he is involved ; and I can see no 
reason why he may not be an object of di- 
vine compassion on that account, as well as 
ours. The cries of the sinner for mercy are 
not, therefore, in themselves sinful; and there 
is nothing to make the sinner less, but much, 
apparently, to make him more an object of 
pity."* 

To this it may be added, that the prayers of 
Cain, of the children of Israel, of the Ninevites, 
and of other unregenerate men, have been an- 
swered. The doctrine, then, which enjoins 
an immediate approach to the great hearer of 
prayer, or, in other words, requires our com- 
ing to Jesus Christ immediately, is equally 
consistent with both reason and the Word of 
God. 

1 can not doubt that the Inquirer may be, in 
a certain sense, truly sincere, while he hangs 
back in expectation of a kind of mental disci- 
pline — a routine which he does not understand, 

' Dwight's Theology, Sermon 76. 



88 LETTERS TO AN 

but which he has been taught to anticipate. 
And hence his common reply to the repeated 
solicitations of the Gospel is, " I am not pre- 
pared." But he has conceived wrong notions 
of the scheme of Redemption. He has adopt- 
ed some ideas which obscure its light, or em- 
barrass its simplicity with perplexities which 
ought to have no connexion with it. How 
strange a posture of affairs is this which is sup- 
posed to be his! The Inquirer is willing — so 
is God. The Inquirer is waiting for the Re- 
deemer, — and the Redeemer waiting for him! 
How inconsistent with the design of the Bible! 
How derogatory to the character of the Sa- 
viour! 

There is another expression, which, although 
not intended to be of exactly the same import 
with the last, indicates a temper somewhat si- 
milar: " I am not holy enough to apply for 
salvation." Let us give this a few minute' 
attention: 

That the awakened sinner is not to remain 
idle is very certain. He is to renounce every 
habit, or practice, which he knows be be guilty. 
He is to weigh his actions by the standard of 
God's holy Law. He is to look carefully in- 
to his disposition and temper; and to turn from 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 89 

the snares to which they expose him. He is 
to abandon all that is at enmity with the will 
of his Maker. But the whole of this is con- 
temporaneous with his approach to Christ: it 
is part of the very act of u arising to go to his 
father." But to consider this a preparative 
course; and his success here a preliminary of 
his own, is obviously incongruous: for it is 
plain to him that he can not succeed in his un- 
aided efforts to obey the dictates of an enlight- 
ened conscience. He will require that divine 
assistance which mercy has tendered. But the 
very act of seeking this, is that of approaching 
Christ. The pretence, therefore, that he will 
remain until he is holier, is an absurdity in 
terms. 

This reason for keeping back, moreover, 
perverts the requirements of God; and looks 
to salvation, not as a gift, but as a reward of 
holiness. Or, if this be denied, does he not 
contemplate a partial change, to be self-effected, 
and to be accepted as an earnest of his dispo- 
sition to accomplish more? Some degree of 
self-complacency is to accompany this offering: 
and there will be quite as much in preparing 
it. 

But is all this disavowed? Does such a one 



90 . LETTERS TO AN 

disclaim the idea of a reward? Does he say,— 
" / am now so vile that I tremble at the 
thought of entering into the presence of a 
pure and holy God; and for this reason I 
would watch and fast, and examine my- 
self that I may be in a better state for be- 
lieving in Christ?" To do all this is well: But 
to render the doing of it the reason and the 
means of keeping him from the Cross, is turn- 
ing that which may be good into an instrument 
of evil. Alas, how slowly we receive the 
blessed truth, that salvation is free! Even 
when the heart has been in some little measure 
humbled, it opens with apparent reluctance for 
its reception. 

The sinner knows that he stands in need of 
mercy; but he clings to the idea that he is to 
render himself a fit recipient. He will tell us 
that he does not deserve Heaven, and yet, with 
a strange equivocation, he hopes to deserve the 
grace which is to carry him thither. He does 
not expect to merit pardon, but he does expect 
to win the divine approbation which is to lead 
to his forgiveness. What contradictions! and 
how contradictory to the Word of God! for 
the design of the blessed Gospel was expressly 
to show " the exceeding riches" of grace, and 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 91 

to let the transgressor see, not only that he 
may be saved, but that in his salvation the un- 
deserved mercy of Jehovah is clearly manifest. 
Attach, then, the smallest merit to the sinner, 
and this design is completely frustrated. Fa- 
vour is changed into Justice, — Grace is trans- 
formed into Debt. 

Oh, why should not the truth be received as 
it is? The physician of Gilead is not only 
able, but ready, to administer a cure to all who 
sincerely apply to him. And can it be neces- 
sary that they should be better when they ap- 
proach him, if he can heal them as they are? 
It is indeed to be regretted that the simplest of 
heavenly directions, are so often obscured by 
artificial dogmas, and by laboured descriptions 
of certain holy dispositions, as pre-requisites 
for all who would venture into the presence of 
Christ. How common, therefore, is the prayer 
that the Lord would grant a certain wSomething 
— it is not known what — or enable us to reach 
a certain point — it is not known where — in 
preparation for accepting the terms of the Gos- 
pel! — All of which means neither more nor 
less than a desire that the Creator would en- 
able us to achieve something as the ground of 
acceptance with himself. Here is a palpable 



92 LETTERS TO AN 

inconsistency- — a prayer for a gift which is to 
become the ground of merited reward! And 
yet such inconsistencies are not rare in the con- 
duct of the awakened sinner. 

But there may be a principle, deeper than 
this, concealed under the expression, " / am 
not holy enough" It is sometimes the mere 
cloak of a spurious humility : for it is expressed 
when the utterer cherishes a latent hope that 
this low opinion of himself will lead to the di- 
vine complacency. And if it were sifted, we 
should see the mingling of pride. 

One thing is certain, — that while such a man 
professes to esteem so highly the holiness of 
God as to feel unworthy to approach him, he 
practically denies other points of his character, 
for which Jehovah claims our homage, and 
which are the medium of access to his pre- 
sence. 

But we will dismiss this subject. There is 
far more interest in the one which you have 
suggested in the following words: " My heart 
is insensible to the truths of which my judg- 
ment is convinced: lam incapable of feeling 
on the only matter which is worthy of emo- 
tion." It is doubtful whether, in the whole 
mass of complaints uttered by Inquirers, there 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 93 

is one more universal than this: and it is cer- 
tain that there is not one more painful. But 
it is not confined to the Inquirer. It is very 
frequently heard from the lips of the Christian: 
and it is, not seldom, one of those mistakes 
which arise from a sincere jealousy of self. I 
am acquainted with some whose whole lives are 
shaded by this supposed insensibility: Who 
invariably condemn themselves in their most 
favoured moments: and who are ever ready, 
on this account, to appropriate to themselves, 
all the evidences of hypocrisy: Who, when 
the tender mercies of Christ, or his sufferings 
and death, are the subjects of meditation, are 
prepared to exclaim, " What goodness! what 
love!" — and yet complain that all this is unaf- 
fecting to their hearts. There are many who 
admit, with apparent admiration, all that is gen- 
eral in the fullness and loveliness of Christ; 
but who find a serious difficulty, when they 
think of a particular application to themselves, 
or when they look for a personal operation in 
their own souls. They can unite with others 
in admiration and praise when they consider 
the excellencies of the Saviour: But, because 
their feelings are not sufficiently strong, unbe- 
lief begins to question and limit the mercies of 
l2 



94 LETTERS TO AN 

God; praise gives way to silence, — admiration 
is changed into doubt And hence that cheer- 
lessness and melancholy which attach them- 
selves to the devotional exercises of many; and 
which, while they pervade the whole mind, 
give it a cast of dejection which faith alone can 
alter. It is not rare to hear such a person say, 
" I could almost desire some trial, or affliction, 
that might melt down this heart of stone — that 
some feeling might flow— that I might enjoy 
some little evidence of a soul susceptible of 
love. But as it is, unmoved as I am, — my 
God, — in a sinful lethargy, 

" 'Tis just, I own, that thou depart 

From so insensible a heart : 

Nor would I shun the sad decree 

To spend my days in grief for thee ! 

'Tis not the painful I deplore 

But sin's benumbing, hard'ning power ! 

Here is a cause of distress which would ap- 
pear, to many, almost beyond the reach of 
remedy. And while the sufferer continues to 
look at it as such, it would not be easy to apply 
a remedy, even were it near at hand. 

It should not be denied that tenderness of 
feeling, is, to a certain extent, necessary. It 
is impossible to experience the power of divine 
truth without it. But there are some errors 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 95 

in this state of mind which are worthy of our 
attention. And it is well worth while to at- 
tempt their removal: To do so, we will com- 
mence with the following sentence: 

We may as readily deceive ourselves in 
respect to emotions arising from a religious 
subject as in respect to those which exist in a 
matter of benevolence. To illustrate this re- 
mark: — A statement of human misery and 
wretchedness, made before two persons, may 
produce the following effects: one may be 
touched with sympathy; and the tears which 
flow, may lead to a persuasion of tenderness of 
heart. The other may hear the tale with an 
unaltered eye, and yet think deeply. The 
first may shrink from entering the abode of 
squallid misery, and exhibit no movement of 
principle; while the second will devote time 
and care to mitigate the evils of the sufferer. 
These are things of daily observation. So 
there are those who can shed tears of apparent 
sorrow, when the pathetic tale of a Saviour's 
life and death is told; while the fixed thought 
of others may be accompanied with unmoisten- 
ed cheeks: but the feelings of the first may be 
" as the early dew," while the impressions of 
the second are as indelible as the etchings of 



96 LETTERS TO AN 

steel. Now which was the neighbour here? 
which the Levite, and the Samaritan? A dif- 
ference- — a most essential difference — must be 
admitted to exist, in both physical and moral 
constitution, and it should not be forgotten that 
while a physical weakness may lead to what is 
called tenderness of feeling, this ready access 
to tears which relieve an oppression, may pre- 
vent an abiding effect on the mind. I would 
not say that it is always thus: But 1 would not 
hesitate to say, that we are not always proper 
judges of our feelings; and that the self-jealous 
Inquirer is very likely to deceive himself in 
the judgment he passes. 

The truth is, there is no quality belonging 
to human nature, on which more stress is laid, 
than on susceptibility of feeling. It is the 
hope of thousands, who have no just idea of 
their true condition, but who regard this sus- 
ceptibility as a demonstration that their hearts 
are open to conviction, and their consciences 
unseared. Others attach to it a moral quality, 
with which it is supposed to have an insepara- 
ble connexion. Both these notions are false. 
In the first case, sensibility may be merely a 
material of the physical constitution, always 
liable to excitability, even while the moral 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 97 

sense becomes blunted. What a melancholy- 
evidence have we of this in disappointments, 
in bereavements, and in all the changes which 
are rung by sorrow! A variety of circumstan- 
ces, wholly disconnected with the subject of 
religion itself, may render us more alive to a 
melting impression at one time, than at another, 
while we are as far from repentance as ever. 

In the second case, it is not uncommon to 
find the impenitent sinner consoling himself in 
the thought that his heart is sympathetic: at- 
tributing his sufferings, before the spectacle of 
misery, to some intrinsic worth in his nature: 
while there may be as much virtue in any 
other feeling within him as in this; and while 
this very sympathy might lead him, if he were 
a Civil Judge, to sacrifice justice, and the weal 
of society, to relieve a personal and lawless 
sympathy. 

1 repeat it, — and you will pardon the repe- 
tition, — a certain tenderness of feeling is ne- 
cessary, as an evidence of our earnestness; but 
its extent is not to be prescribed, and we are 
not judges of it, always, ourselves. 

Nor is this all: apart from what I have said, 
the same subjects will not affect constitutions 
of equal feeling, in the same way, nor to the 



9S LETTERS TO AN 

same extent. And yet they may produce the 
same results by apparently different means. — 
Now carry this remark through all the diver- 
sities of character which they may reach: and 
you will observe how incorrect would be any 
general conclusion from the mere intensity of 
emotion. 

But we may advance beyond this: there are 
those whose conduct is governed by their sen- 
sibilities: whose sense of duty is dependent on 
emotions; the two rising, or departing togeth- 
er. Here principle and feeling are one. And 
we, accordingly, find the zeal of such persons 
as fluctuating as their excitements. 

Mistakes on this subject may be, and often 
are, productive of serious mischief. This is 
evident in those cases in which weak, but per- 
haps sincere, Christians, are examining their 
frames of mind even to a partial exclusion of 
the principle of obedience: And in which, 
too, they may unwarily condemn a temper that 
is unobtrusive and silent, because the work- 
ings of the heart are not visible in the unfilled 
eye. 

But while all these may be errors of the 
Christian himself — errors by which he is de- 
ceived in respect to both his own heart and 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 99 

those of others — the awakened sinner is still 
more in danger of deception. He has read of 
the sufferings of others, or heard them de- 
scribed; and he conceives of a uniform rule. 
He understood, in some measure, the extent 
of these sufferings, and deems a participation 
necessary. He may have taken his concep- 
tions from the ministrations of the Holy Word, 
in which a delineation of the returning peni- 
tent may be justly given, without possibly suit- 
ing his own circumstances, in all their particu- 
lars. Besides, — when he reads forms of devo- 
tion, or even a prayer for the penitent, or a 
hymn to a similar purpose, he discovers the 
tone of feeling too high to correspond with his 
own: and he forgets that no precise rule of ad- 
measurement was ever intended; or that such 
forms may be designed often, rather to lift, 
than to meet, the state of personal feeling: And 
that, even then, their authors could never have 
expected an equal effect upon all who heard or 
saw them. But unhappily, our inferences are 
prone to rashness, in this state of mind: And 
we are apt to attach an undue authority to the 
compositions, as well as the opinions, of pious 
men. 
It is a sad mistake when the pungency of 



100 LETTERS TO AN 

sorrow is deemed the proportion of sincerity; 
and artificial efforts are made to promote and 
sustain a deep work of the passions, without 
directing the mind to any other than this sin- 
gle end. And it is hence the Inquirer, after 
being made sensible of his condition as a sin- 
ner, is sometimes kept back from the proper 
object of his inquiry, in order to obtain a cer- 
tain state of distress with which he is directed 
to meet his Saviour. And with this in view, 
tHe Law, in all its terrors, is placed before him. 
Its thunders are repeated, and its flashes re- 
newed. 

I have already intimated that no man is like- 
ly to lay hold of the conditions of the grace of 
God, without a sense of his necessitous situa- 
tion. But it is delusive to suppose that the 
Law, disconnected from the Gospel, will pro- 
duce this important effect. It may furnish a 
knowledge of sin; for this is its proper tenden- 
cy. But while it stands alone, though it com- 
pel conviction, it will be as likely to drive to 
desperation, or to legal views, as to fit the soul 
for an understanding of God. Believe me, it 
is in the death of Jesus Christ, that the curse 
of transgression is most clearly legible: While 
it is here alone that an antidote is offered to the 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 101 

wounds of conscience. Without a survey of 
this, the Law can never be made the instru- 
ment of evangelical repentance. And, with 
all the alarm which the sight of impending 
doom may create in the mind of the sinner, 
there will not be a single disposition, which 
will either place him in a better condition for 
receiving the mercy of his God, or produce a 
single desire that could lead him to true holi- 
ness. 

Such a prescription, then, is unscriptural. 
And I may add, that its effects are likely to 
terminate in an abandonment of the whole mat- 
ter on the part of the Inquirer; and in leaving 
him more completely out of the reach of con- 
viction than ever. And yet this prescription 
most usually meets the views of an awakened 
sinner, who often looks with as much assurance 
for a certain preparative measure of feeling, as 
for the final issue of conversion. " Oh that 
I could feel!" he frequently exclaims; while 
the very earnestness of his manner betrays his 
sensibility. a Iam willing to suffer any thing, 
or to undergo any anguish that would bring 
hope to my soul, or make me an object of at- 
tention to my God!" What vanity of effort is 
here! And how it diverts the mind from its 

M 



102 LETTERS TO AN 

proper object! But all this is the suggestion 
of an uneasy and inconsiderate mind. 

Can it be, My Dear Sir, that Jesus Christ 
demands penance at our hands ? Have not the 
expiatory sufferings which are necessary for 
our salvation, been undergone by himself? 
And is it not true that " there remaineth no 
more sacrifice for sin?" It is an idea of na- 
tural religion, which has been incorporated 
into a corruption of Christianity, that the suf- 
ferings we may inflict on ourselves can be of 
avail in the great object of salvation. That 
disposition, then, which renders you willing 
to endure any thing as part of the terms ten- 
dered to God, in exchange for what he alone 
can give, — whatever vehement desire it may 
be supposed to exhibit, — is radically legal in 
its character. 

I admit that a lamentation over hardness of 
heart, or an expression of sorrow because the 
judgment and affections do not act efficientl)' 
together, is consistent with the most unleaven- 
ed sincerity. But then to require a given de- 
gree of animal feeling in all constitutions, be- 
fore the soul is supposed in a fit state to sur- 
render itself to the Redeemer, is an inter- 
meddling with the simple plan of the Gospel. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 103 

I beseech you, let these things alone. Be not 
among the number of those who stand aloof 
from the Cross, because they have not under- 
gone a due portion of suffering: who grow im- 
patient under delay, — indifferent, — and then 
retreat back forever: — the sad history of many 
a soul. Never attempt to take the gauge of 
your sorrow, or to look for mercy with any 
hope proportioned to mere emotions: Rather 
take no note of your anxiety. But inquire of 
your own heart, — " am 1 not a sinner con- 
demned, justly, before God? Am I not utter- 
ly helpless in myself? And yet is there not 
grace, full and free, offered in the Gospel, to 
every such sinner?" 

Before I conclude this letter, let me invite 
your attention to a few words, touching ano- 
ther complaint — " I have reason to apprehend 
that I have no conviction of sin. It is true, 
my judgrnent is convinced; and my under- 
standing assents to the awful truth that I 
am guilty before God. Yet I have no clear 
views of my sinfulness. The whole subject 
is confused to my sight. I wish to confront 
my iniquities as they are; and I would 
make them distinct to my view, whatever 
pain it might occasion. But I labour to 



104 LETTERS TO AN 

effect this, in vain." This difficulty belongs 
to no particular class of experience. It may- 
be connected with much distress; and may be 
mentioned in the bitterness of despair. Or, it 
may belong to a more calm, but not less serious, 
operation of mind. But wherever it may be 
found, it carries with it a train of apprehensions 
for which there may be much reason, and 
which are often exceedingly perplexing. 

It is true that without some knowledge of 
our sinfulness we shall hardly approach the Sa- 
viour in a posture of acceptance. And it is 
equally true, that a clear discovery of our guilt 
and depravity, is highly desirable. But still it 
would be inexpedient to propose any invariable 
rule of judgment: or to require the same dis- 
tinctness of conception, in every awakened sin- 
ner. That very diversity of moral and physi- 
cal constitution, which produces a variety of 
degrees of feeling, may act with very similar 
effects on our conceptions of truth. 1 have 
known some of the most exemplary of Chris- 
tians, who were always ready to repeat the 
complaint before us: but who, notwithstand- 
ing, possessed almost every evidence that could 
be satisfactory to themselves, of having passed 
from death unto life. 1 have known others, who, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 105 

in the commencement of their career, were 
equally solicitous on this account, but to whom 
the evil of their hearts was more distinctly pre- 
sented as they advanced in life. And there 
may be frames of spirit within all of us» which, 
without any assignable cause, render our views 
on this subject more discriminating, or more 
confused. 

But I can come nearer to your state of mind 
by bringing before you two examples of hourly 
observation: The grossly impure or profane 
have always near them such tangible proof of 
their guilt, that if they are awakened to serious 
reflection at all, they can not escape a sense of 
the evil. Even the laws and sentiments of so- 
ciety arraign them: and perhaps lead them, in 
a moment of thoughtfulness, to compare their 
conduct with a more holy standard. Each act 
stands out prominently, and marks the temper 
and dispositions of the soul: and while it dis- 
plays a total unfitness for Heaven, justifies the 
sentence of condemnation. Such a man may 
be painfully sensible of his wickedness, even 
before he has entered on a close examination of 
his life: — There may be a living conscience 
within a heart that is dead. But, whenever 

such an investigation is fairly begun, remorse 

M2 



106 . LETTERS TO AN 

will accompany it with equal pace. There can 
be no subterfuge here; and there is very little 
room for sophistry. Whatever this sinner may 
finally do, he now pleads guilty to the charge 
of a witness within him. 

On the other hand, one who is distinguished 
by an amiable and moral deportment, may be 
confronted by no such accusers. The secret 
belief of his safety, which he has so naturally 
cherished, and which is so congenial with our 
natural ideas of accountability, assists in con- 
cealing the true state of his heart. Now the 
difficulty of convincing such a one of the evils 
of his soul, consists in the following truth — 
that actions are more prominent to the sight , 
than motives; when the former are flagrant, 
the attention may be arrested and retained 
by them, with comparative ease; but mo- 
tives lie deeper; and it requires some strong 
inducement to lead us to examine them. 

I have seen a good illustration of this, in a 
pious young friend who is still living, an orna- 
ment to the Church to which he is attached: — 
During a visit which he once paid me, while 
under distressing concern, he gave me substan- 
tially the following statement: — "I do not 
know that I have ever been accused of what 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 107 

the world would call immorality. The acquit- 
tal of a satisfied conscience has constituted 
much of my happiness. And even to this day, 
I do not know that either of my parents ever 
impeached my conduct of a more serious crime 
than neglect or carelessless. While I have sat 
under the sound of the Gospel, 1 have admitted 
its excellence, and always believed myself em- 
braced within its promises. I can remember 
when the affecting interview between the Sa- 
viour and the young Ruler, was the subject of 
a discourse which awakened others around me, 
my own mind was, for a short season, startled. 
I wished to be made sensible of sin, but I could 
recollect no obvious charge against myself. I 
could fix my eye on nothing which could rivet 
its gaze; and, as 1 passed willingly and rapidly 
to the conclusion that I had kept nothing back 
from my God, my peace was not long disturbed. 
During all this time I knew nothing of myself, 
It had not occurred to me that the heartless- 
ness with which I discharged every duty, — 
the secret pride which followed it, — and the 
insipidity and tastelessness of devotion, — were 
melancholy proofs of my unfitness for the so- 
ciety of Heaven. Or, if a doubt ever remained 
in my mind, it was easy to conclude that any 



108 LETTERS TO AN 

change which I needed, would accompany my 
transition into another world. 1 did not then 
see how this unscriptural reliance opposed the 
moral government of God; nor how the hope 
I had cherished arrogantly superseded salvation 
by Grace. In the midst of this security, a 
circumstance occurred which threw me as near 
despair as I had been to presumption : It was 
a temptation to commit a sin where there was 
every thing to entice; and, in the event of de- 
tection, not much to lose, in the eye of the 
world. It was a proposal of a Sabbath day's 
excursion of pleasure. There was little time 
to reflect; and each moment swelled the force 
of temptation. I yielded. And from that 
hour, remorse has never left me. In vain have 
I argued with myself that this is a solitary evil. 
In vain I appealed to my own heart. Even 
that seems changed. I see no more evidence 
of its innocence. I behold a selfish policy in 
all my motives, and a hatred of that holiness 
which 1 had flattered myself 1 esteemed. I am 
lost. And my doom is aggravated by the re- 
membrance of a life and a peace in direct oppo- 
sition to the scheme of the Gospel." It is not 
necessary to finish this story: the application 
is plain. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 109 

But let us suppose the inducements to in- 
quiry to be strong in any such case. Let the 
judgment be convinced that all this morality is 
of no avail. Still, while there seems little 
palpable to lay hold of, — and nothing which 
appears very near to admonish, — and almost 
nothing to awaken the feelings to a lively in- 
terest in the subject, — it may be exceedingly 
difficult to fix and concentrate the attention; or 
to single out the lurking evils of the heart. 
And yet if we were able to complete this pur- 
pose, as I have already said, the effects will vary 
in different persons, although the same end 
may be as certainly accomplished. 

The false conclusion, however, on the whole 
subject, consists in imagining that a certain in- 
tensity and fullness of conviction is required on 
the part of the sinner, before he is at liberty to 
recognize the invitations of grace as applicable 
to himself; — that this conviction must be well- 
defined, and its action regular. The Redeemer 
once said — "they that be whole need not a 
physician, but they that are sick:" and hence 
it has been concluded that unless there be a 
consciousness of the power of disease, all ap- 
plication must be in vain. But the Redeemer 
could not have meant that none stand in need 



110 LETTERS TO AN 

of a physician but such as are fully sensible of 
their state. His expression was a reproof to 
the querulous Pharisees, who considered them- 
selves whole, and the Publicans and Sinners 
sick. And this the Saviour seems to have ad- 
mitted for the sake of argument, while he ren- 
dered it a reason for his associating with those 
of disreputable name. But, surely, he did not 
mean to intimate that all these degraded men 
had a just sense of their guilt, and that it was 
expedient, for this reason, that he should asso- 
ciate with them. 

Apply to this subject a passage from the pro- 
phet Isaiah, which plainly refers to the invita- 
tions of sovereign grace through the future 
Messiah: — " Ho every one that thirsteth, come 
ye to the waters, and he that hath no money, 
come ye, buy and eat; yea come buy wine and 
milk without money, and without price. "* 
The thirst referred to in this case was certainly 
not for spiritual blessings. It was for earthly 
happiness only. It was the panting of an im- 
mortal soul for pleasure. And it was indicated 
by toil and expense to purchase enjoyment 
which our smitten earth has not to give. The 
remonstrance which follows this passage tells 

Is. iv. 1. 









ANXIOUS INQUIRER. Ill 

us as much: — " Wherefore do ye spend money 
for that which is not bread, and your labour for 
that which satisfieth not." There is no neces- 
sary connexion between such a desire as this, 
and that hungering for righteousness of which 
the Saviour spoke in his Sermon on the 
Mount. And the same may be said of his ad- 
dress on the last day of the Feast. 

The degree of the conviction of sin, then, 
has nothing to do with the offer of salvation. 
This is put into the hands of all. And it is in- 
tended to meet the necessities of every In- 
quirer after happiness. 

You are to look to the Gospel, My Dear Sir, 
for that peace which your soul desires; and not 
to your particular mental impressions. And 
you see the reasonableness of this, in the fact 
that the man who is under the most powerful 
evangelical convictions, is the last to consider 
them acceptable on their own account. Let your 
convictions then, be what they may, they are 
never to afford you satisfaction in themselves. 

Adieu — remember that, "by grace are ye 
saved through faith: and that not of yourselves; 
it is the gift of God; not of works, lest any 
man should boast." 

I am yours, &c. 



112 LETTERS TO AN 



LETTER V. 



Complaint of irresolution— Nature of unstable resolutions— Peculiarity of 
situation— The folly of speculating on the expected change— Vain 
fancies— "God will not pardon we" — "I do not see how the promises 
can be fulfilled in myself"— The sufficiency of pardon— Advice. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

When I adverted, in my Third Letter, 
to that buoyancy of feeling which is so fre- 
quently a subject of complaint with certain In- 
quirers, and which so often leads to a desperate 
renunciation of the whole pursuit, 1 did not 
mean to confound this complaint with that of 
any other sense of irresolution: For there are 
certainly many who mourn, with bitterness of 
heart, over the changes of an irresolute and 
wavering mind, and yet who have no charac- 
teristic levity of disposition. Irresolution is 
the lament of many a Christian. And the 
very language in which you have expressed 
your feelings may be the utterings of a soul 
whose supreme affections are given to God: 
But it may likewise be adopted by one who is 
influenced by a temporary earnestness, and 
never comes to a favourable decision. You 
tell me — " There are times when the object of 






ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 113 

my salvation assumes an overwhelming im- 
portance; when every thought is engrossed by 
it: and when it would seem impossible to di- 
vert my attention from the reflections it occa- 
sions: And yet, the next hour, insensibility 
succeeds; and I can not recall a single idea, as 
it was. There is a fluctuating operation of the 
mind which seems peculiar to the subject. In 
the event of ordinary affliction, I have noted a 
sense of my loss to vary ; but even when it was 
least intense, and when my faculties were ab- 
stracted in some degree by other things, I was 
conscious of an oppressive weight on my heart. 
But here, on the contrary, I discover a vacilla- 
tion for which I can not account — a rapid tran- 
sition from interest to stupidity." 

There is nothing extraordinary in all this, 
although the subject of such experience is apt 
to attribute much mystery to it; to imagine a 
powerful supernatural agency employed against 
him; or, to suspect that either his natural pe- 
culiarities shut him out from the hope into 
which others enter, or that God, from some 
unrevealed cause will not pardon him; or else, 
that he must, in some fatal moment, have com- 
mitted the Unpardonable Sin: And such suspi- 

N 



114 LETTERS TO AST 

cions, you tell me, have often covered your 
prospects with darkness. 

I confess that where this difficulty exists, if it 
do not lead to the suspicions you have noted, 
it may very easily end in some other conclu- 
sion of despair. And there are some minds, 
which, from habit or constitution, must neces- 
sarily encounter it: Minds which take their 
present tone from their last associates; retain an 
impression from the last object of attention, to 
give way to the next: never uniform in their 
character for the space of a day. In such a 
case, we should look for this complaint. And 
important as retirement is, in all instances of 
religious inquiry, we should here, particularly, 
urge a seclusion from any objects, or occupa- 
tions, which are not within the sphere of the 
most indispensable duty; and an unremitted 
confinement of attention to the great matter of 
salvation. And the advice would not be dif- 
ferent from this, which we should be disposed 
to give, where irresolution arises from the 
slightness of the impression made on the mind. 

In either case, the consciousness of irresolu- 
tion is painful, and often discouraging in the 
extreme. The awakened sinner, in the first 
hour of .alarm, determines with much earnest- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 115 

ness, that he will not permit his thoughts to be 
diverted from the great concern of eternal life. 
Some intrusive trifler engages his attention: 
but he returns from his wanderings to serious- 
ness again, ashamed of himself, and perhaps 
uneasy for thtf consequences. The same pro- 
cess takes place again and again. Irresolution 
becomes a habit; and the sinner loses all confi- 
dence in the bare possibility of a happy issue. 
Or, where such is not the result, the mind ac- 
quires an unprofitable restlessness, and be- 
comes almost incapable of fixedness of thought. 
Some extraordinary power would appear ne- 
cessary to impart an habitual seriousness, by 
altering the very shape and texture of the 
mind. 

This picture is strengthened, when we re- 
collect the reviews whieh such a man takes of 
the past. When, it may be, at the very time 
of his arrival at a point of renewed seriousness, 
he remembers that he had reached this more 
than once before, and was led from it again to 
perfect listlessness and indifference: when he 
can remember, too, exactly similar operations 
of his mind; and, as if he had recorded his 
thoughts at the time, he is able to ponder them 
over, and to see in them the very state which 



116 LETTERS TO AN 

distinguishes him now. No train of reflections 
can be more dampening than those which fol- 
low, where retrospections of this character are 
fully indulged. Without even an active con- 
viction of sin, he mav feel the dull influence of 
anticipated lethargy stealing over his spirits — 
and all effort seems a mockery, alike to his soul, 
and his God. 



- 



" I can not weep ! I dare not pray ! 
The very source of tears is dry ! 
And what — when hope is lost for aye — 
Avails the prayer of agony 1 
A dark cloud lowers before mine eye— 
A chain is twined around my heart— 
I can not pierce that clouded sky — 
I can not tear those bands apart." 

The principal part of the original fault, in 
this melancholy case, consists in the defective 
nature of the resolutions which were so often 
broken. I have already said, that it is possible 
to resolve with such a vehemence of feeling as 
entirely to overlook our natural weakness, and, 
in the ardour of our determination, to forget 
utterly the strength of our foes. And thus we 
may offer our prayers for divine aid, while we 
feel so confident in ourselves that there is very 
little sincerity in the petition. We may 
imagine that we possess the two ingredients of 
a successful resolve — reliance on God, and self- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 117 

determination, — while there lurks within the 
heart all that could keep us apart from spiritual 
assistance, and while very little pains would 
enable us to detect an unhallowed and pre- 
sumptuous confidence. 

Other resolutions are formed in the season of 
affliction; and the state of mind w T hich prompt- 
ed them, may promise no better issue than the 
last. There is no condition in which we are 
more liable to deceive ourselves, than that of 
temporal adversity. The partial subduement 
of passion which personal grief has effected, 
is mistaken for meekness; the diversion of 
thoughts from objects of recent attention, is a 
fancied change of taste and desire. A sense of 
care and dreariness takes the name of some 
Christian grace: And the mourner already 
imagines himself to have made an easy transi- 
tion from worldliness to piety. Or, if he do 
not assume so bold a conclusion, the resolu- 
tions which he forms are entirely dependent on 
the intensity of his sorrow; and his expecta- 
tions of success are derived from the same 
source. 

This is a sad misapplication of the leadings 
of an afflictive providence; which were de- 
signed, not to achieve his salvation b}' any 
n2 



118 LETTERS TO AN 

special influence in themselves, but to direct 
him to faith and repentance. 

But what should be done where a sense of 
irresolution, and of moral weakness, produces 
an influence so discouraging? Is there rea- 
son for despair ? By no means. All this is 
a sad proof of human helplessness: But it is no 
evidence against the power of Christ to save. 
Such a one should feel humbled; but not dis- 
heartened. The recollection of the past should 
only furnish a strong argument for implicit re- 
liance on the Saviour; while it should teach 
him to lean no more on himself: and the very 
feelings which it might produce in the bosom, 
if they were rightly applied, would be salutary. 
He might see that his case is desperate; but 
that it is only a desperation in his own re- 
sources. It furnishes a reason why he should 
hope no more from mere human efforts; but it 
presents, too, a plea for the entire surrender of 
the soul to Jesus, — " Oh 1 can do nothing!" 
exclaims the agitated and desponding spirit, 
as he comes down from his exertion and la- 
bour. " True," — I would say, — "you can 
do nothing. The Word of God has affirmed 
this before you admitted it; you are brought 
only to an experimental conviction of what 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. • 119 

you would not believe until this moment. Re- 
ceive, then, more readily the converse of this 
truth — Christ can do all things for you. 
Surrender, therefore, your heart to him now, 
when the lesson of your own insufficiency is 
so plain. Behold, the Redeemer is emphati- 
cally denominated the strength of them that be- 
lieve: and the invitation of the Gospel is unto 
the sensibly weak." 

Alas, how sad is it, when this very essential 
discovery of indecision and imbecility, to 
which the Scriptures had pointed, has been 
made in our own experience, only to be per- 
verted to evil, instead of leading to the Re- 
deemer! 

The idea of " some peculiarity of situa- 
tion, or some singular temperament of 
mind, excluding you from a state which 
you desire to obtain," is not uncommon, 
much as you complain of it. 

If we could read the feelings of all Inquirers, 
it is probable we should find this impression 
written upon most of them. The frequenter 
of scenes of fashion and folly, — and the man in 
humble walks of life, — the nurtured child of 
Christian care, and the neglected offspring of 
Godless parents, — the vain and the proud, — 



120 LETTERS TO AN 

the inconsiderate and the thoughtful,— have 
their peculiar difficulties. Indeed, all habits, 
views, or feelings, which we may have cherish- 
ed, previous to conviction of divine truth, will 
produce their appropriate, and corresponding 
effects on the mind, at this crisis. Some of 
these may cause more serious perplexities than 
others; yet all the conduct, or maxims, of life 
that is past, w T ill carry their consequences on, 
to thought or to feeling: And we may be unable 
to discriminate between these effects and the 
natural state of the heart. It is hence the In- 
quirer may think his lot singularly hard; and 
that of another comparatively easy, without 
being able to judge between the two. But 
then, apart from this, — when the awakened 
sinner has been disappointed in his anticipa- 
tions; when he has not found the path he is 
travelling such as he expected it; and he is un- 
able to account for the cares which embarrass 
him, it is a very natural conclusion at which 
he arrives, that his experience varies from that 
of any other; and that an inconceivable some- 
thing forms a barrier between him and his 
God. And, not unfrequently, in searching for 
this, he leaves the track of plain duty; and 
wanders, he knows not where. And then 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 121 

what a disposition is there to look around for 
analogies, — to inquire into the experience of 
others, — to institute comparisons, — and to de- 
rive encouragement or despair from sources fo- 
reign from the great object of salvation! 

A single consideration ought to banish all 
apprehensions produced by this supposed sin- 
gularity: The scheme of the Gospel, and the 
invitations of Scripture, are designed to meet 
every exigency. And if the cares and doubts 
of the Inquirer were a thousand times more 
distressing than they are, they would not fur- 
nish the least evidence against this truth. And 
were I about to account for the unhappy con- 
clusions which are so often drawn, in this 
exigency, I would examine the present habits 
and practices of the complainer, in order to do 
so. And here it would be easy to discover 
the mind, watching the state of excitement, — 
speculating on its changes, — impatient and 
eager. Oh how widely different is that more 
successful course of conduct which renders our 
difficulties a reason and a subject for prayer; 
which makes all that is discouraging an argu- 
ment for perseverance; and which, taking hold 
of the precepts of God, turns them, after the 



122 LETTERS TO AN 

example of the Psalmist, into materials of 
heartfelt petition!* 

But knowing as little as we do of the hearts 
of others, and yet entering into this needless 
comparison between ourselves and them — and 
judging, as we do, from what is visible to the 
eye, it is not astonishing that we often find little 
resemblance between ourselves and them. Nor 
is it a wonder that even the Christian very often 
believes his religious experience dissimilar to 
that of his brethren around him. But still, the 
grand and leading principles of human nature 
are every where the same; " as in water, face 
answereth to face, so the heart of man to man." 
It is, therefore, worse than unwise to imagine 
the condition of our experience so remarkable 
as to be without the reach of the ordinary applica- 
tion of mercy. Such a conclusion is an impeach- 
ment of the sufficiency of redemption, and an 
imputation against the veracity of the divine 
promises. 

Yet before 1 dismiss this ground of complaint 
altogether, I shall not omit reprobating a prac- 
tice which gives rise to it; and which is entirely 
inconsistent with a speedy attainment of our 
end: I mean the practice of occupying the mind 

* Psalm, li. 10. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 123 

with speculations of what the future change 
is to be; the manner in which it is to be ef- 
fected^ and the particular sensations we shall 
undergo. This is a busy idleness which ne- 
ver does good, but invariably leads to some 
evil: And although considered innocent in 
itself, it has a direct tendency to defeat our pur- 
pose, as some employments, which appear to 
be of a more worldly nature. Indeed, the con- 
fusion of mind and thought which this practice 
produces, can hardly be too much deprecated. 
It keeps the Gospel out of view; or suffers on- 
ly an occasional appearance of it, while its main 
and ultimate bearing is lost. The consequence, 
as well as the fact itself, may be seen in a mo- 
ment's illustration: — Any object which we con- 
template ought to affect us according to its na- 
ture: but that effect will be in proportion to the 
impression it makes upon us; and that impres- 
sion, again, will depend upon the intentness 
and steadiness of attention to the object. Now, 
if we divide our attention, or suffer it to be en- 
gaged in analyzing the workings of mind, the 
employment is in opposition to the professed 
end we have in view. It is a mode of serious 
trifling which we exercise in no other matter. 
Let me suppose information of a very interest- 



124 LETTERS TO AN 

ing nature to have reached you: would it be 
possible to detect yourself in labouring to dis- 
cover the manner in which it operates upon 
you — the particular analysis of your feelings ? 
And would not any such abstruse reasoning 
completely supercede the happy effect of the 
intelligence ? And so it is with respect to the 
offers of the Gospel. You believe that you are 
a lost sinner; and that the only method of sal- 
vation is to be found in the scheme of which 
Christ is the founder and revealer. But if your 
attention be diverted from this, surely no ex- 
pectation of its efficacy upon you can be rea- 
sonably entertained. That at which you are 
looking is not the gospel; but something essen- 
tially different from it. 

This indulgence in the play of imagination 
often introduces a most powerful temptation in 
the way; especially where previous habits in- 
sensibly lead to its exercise. There are those 
who live much of their time in regions of fan- 
cy; whose happiness is found in aerial matters 
and things; and who have always a resort from 
pain to pleasure, in their musings. In such a 
case as this, the evil which I am now condemn- 
ing is to be very seriously deprecated, as a 
powerful means of destroying the effect of con- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 125 

viction: for while part of this precious period 
of his time is expended by the Inquirer in spec- 
ulations on the anticipated change of his heart, 
he loses sight of the common center to which 
all his thoughts should be directed; and his 
sinfulness and danger vanish together from his 
sight. It is not merely a delay of the object 
avowedly sought, that is to be apprehended in 
this castle-building: Truth itself is sacrificed 
for that which is unreal. 

But more: In this idle occupation of specu- 
lating on the future change, all surmises are 
sure to be wrong. Fancy can bear no resem- 
blance to the fact as it is. The Scriptures leave 
us entirely in the dark as to the mode and man- 
ner of divine operations. They negative all 
our preconceived views, while we are watch- 
ing to ascertain the progress of the renewal of 
soul. We do know that in this great work the 
Holy Spirit exerts his influence: but this is all 
we can discover; " whence it cometh, and 
whither it goeth" are known to God alone. 
There is a variety of questions here, which 
have occasioned much unnecessary discussion: 
whether this divine influence act previous to a 
distinct perception of the truth, — and thus af- 
ford a capability of such perception: or wheth- 



126 LETTERS TO AN 

er, while the mind is directed to the truth, this 
divine influence accompany or flow from it, — 
and thus render it effectual: whether a change 
is to be effected so imperceptibly that its parti- 
cular developments can not be distinctly traced 
in their progress, or in our review; or whether 
some extraordinary excitement, overwhelming 
in its force, and memorable as the grand era of 
our life, ensue at once — all these are less than 
secondary matters with one who has no right 
to withhold a single moment from his God. 

But speculations of this nature are not the 
only ones with which the mind may be occupi- 
ed in this important period. The discursive- 
ness of fancy is always apt to extend anticipa- 
tion to other things. In the prospective career 
every thing is scrutinized. Future schemes 
and plans are farmed: their influence and bear- 
ing examined: future habits, and the alteration 
they may produce upon our feelings and tem- 
poral interest, come before the eye. 

There is one matter, in particular, which is 
very often prominent in the minds of those who 
are partially impressed : I mean that of making 
a profession of religion. So closely connected 
is this with the subject of religion itself, in the 
view of most, that when we have often spoken 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 127 

privately on the danger of neglecting the soul, 
a very frequent reply is, — " I am not fit to par- 
take of the holy communion." A reply which 
evades the point to which we wish the reflec- 
tions directed. It is not an avowal of religion 
we are urging, at such a time; important as is 
the dying command of the Saviour, it is not 
likely to be neglected when the heart is sur- 
rendered to him: — but it is faith and repen- 
tance towards God — it is the hazard of the 
immortal spirit, to which we are calling the 
attention: and if we can fix it on them we have 
accomplished our end. And yet there is a 
waywardness which turns the eye from piety 
to its profession. In the Inquirer this is very 
observable. He knows that a public avowal 
of his faith would succeed his attainment of 
grace. It is an act of the deepest solemnity: 
and invested as it often is, by adventitious cir- 
cumstances of awe in the mind, it is not unapt to 
engross his thoughts to the exclusion of what is 
more suited to his state. He believes, too, 
that such an act involves a vast amount of re- 
sponsibility; and his mind ruminates on this 
with doubt and fearfulness. He forgets that no 
new obligations are implied, and no new duties 
are enjoined in this important transaction: for 



128 LETTES TO AN 

every obligation, and every duty, which flow 
from an open espousal of the Redeemer's cause, 
were incumbent on us before: they do not arise 
from the act of consecrating ourselves, but 
from a previous divine command; and we are 
no more at liberty to cull for ourselves certain 
precepts and to reject others, than we are to 
abandon at will, the whole of the sacred deca- 
logue. All this, however, is too readily for- 
gotten. 

Nay, his fears on this point are still more ex- 
cited, from a further cause: As more is expect- 
ed from a professor of religion than from the 
mere worldling, — in the ideas commonly en- 
tertained on this subject, — an additional source 
of apprehension appears before him, and per- 
haps completely supercedes the great object of 
inquiry, Let me bring to your notice an ex- 
ample inpoint, which now occurs to my memo- 
ry. The heart of an acquaintance had been 
seriously affected; and favourable expectations 
were entertained of the issue. A single thought 
which frequently presented itself, ultimately 
checked his seriousness, and restored him more 
completely to the world than ever: He had 
been unsuccessful in mercantile engagements: 
And in the midst of his thoughtfulness, he of- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 129 

ten compared the consequences of declaring 
himself on the side of religion with this fact. 
" What will the world think of me," — he 
would say, — " If I profess to be religious ? It 
looks like a dishonourable covert from scruti- 
ny. It will be imagined a design to gain the 
good will of others under a cloak of hypocrisy 
— an excuse from a possible reproach." You 
can easily judge of the effect of such apprehen- 
sions upon a high-minded spirit, conscious of 
its integrity, and shrinking from the imputa- 
tion of wrong. The consequences were as I 
have stated. A continual recurrence to this 
ground of fear diverted his attention from the 
state of his soul: and, at last, furnished a satis- 
factory excuse for postponing what conscience 
and the Word of God declared to be the duty 
of the present moment. You observe the in- 
sidiousness of all this reasoning. And you see 
how easily Satan may make an instrument of 
it to effect the purpose of diverting the soul from 
its eternal interest. 

This practice of speculating on the future is 
not visible to an observer. Nor is it often indi- 
cated by the Inquirer himself; unless it be visi- 
ble by some indirect hint; or discoverable by 

questions which such speculations induces him 
o2 



130 LETTERS TO AN 

to ask. It is, most usually, a secret employment 
which he would be ashamed to mention on his 
own part; and of which, posssibly,he is not al- 
together conscious: and yet to which there is a 
natural tendency, during intervals when the 
mind is not more profitably exercised ; and when 
this employment furnishes a partial relief to the 
anxiety of his feelings. 

Leaving this, let me go back with you to 
another of the grounds of discouragement; 
which you have taken occasion to suggest: 1 
mean "the fear that God, for some unknown 
reason, is not willing to pardon you, how- 
ever free his pardon and mercy may be to 
others." It would be unjust to say, that this 
complaint is always insincere. Yet it is often 
expressed in the petulance of the moment, 
without any serious conviction, and perhaps, 
without any strong suspicion of its truth and, 
in such case, it is not easy to measure the cri- 
minality of thus sporting with the divine pro- 
mises. Or, it may be the conclusion of a mind 
suffering under deep depression, and express- 
ing, it hardly knows what: a thoughtless vent 
of feeling, the fruit of selfishness. Or, it may 
arise from present disappointment. Or, it may 
be, as it very often is, the dictate of remorse. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 131 

But whatever its source, it always indicates a 
want of consideration, or ignorance of the plan 
of redemption. And not a few instances occur, 
in which it is utterly impossible to reason with 
the complainer: in which he seems to foster a 
melancholy belief against all the promises; and 
an indisposition to examine the means or con- 
ditions of salvation. And vet such a man 
might have been able to argue well against the 
unreasonableness of his own inferences in any 
one else. On the other hand, it is possible that 
the same truths, which he knows how to ap- 
ply to a friend, but knows not how to appro- 
priate to himself, might effectually reach him 
when they come from other lips. Or, it may 
be, that when they have failed at one time, they 
may be successful at another. So fitful and ca- 
pricious is the state of the awakened sinner. 

In some instances, the complaint of which 
1 am speaking might be expressed in other 
words — " / do not see how the promises of 
God could he fulfilled in me" — the means of 
their accomplishment are not visible. Here is 
a character of unbelief somewhat resembling 
that of the Samaritan Lord, in days of old; 
who refused faith in a prediction because he 
could not see the means of its completion. 



132 LETTERS TO AN 

Because he could not decide whence succour 
could come, he discredited the pledge of its 
coming at all. And his infidelity ended in his 
own personal ruin; though the promise was 
redeemed. It is often thus with the sinner. 
Because he sees no hope in his own resources; 
and does not see how God can operate without 
them, he frequently perishes in his incredu- 
lity, within the very reach of salvation. Alas, 
unbelief of the divine promises is often the 
last sin of which we are conscious; and it may 
be committed at a time when we are least like- 
ly to be aware of doing so. A proud reason- 
ing that contradicts the word of God, and 
gives the lie to the Holy One of Israel, may 
exist where we imagine a mere humble and 
humbling despondency. 

You have already seen that it is inconsistent 
with the divine economy of grace to refuse the 
application of the Inquirer for the sole reason 
that he is not embraced within an elective de- 
cree: and the following remarks may serve to 
convince you that the exclamation so frequent- 
ly heard from the desponding sinner, — " my 
sins are too great to be forgiven ," — is with- 
out any foundation in truth. 

The most prominent trait in the atonement 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 133 

of Jesus Christ is, that if it be sufficient to pro- 
cure the pardon of a single sin, it is equally so 
to cover the most aggravated and complicated 
guilt. The salvation of a single soul required 
a sacrifice of infinite worth; and no number or 
extent of crimes can, therefore, be committed, 
to put the transgressor beyond the reach of its 
efficacy. The Scriptures always speak of its 
entire sufficiency; and refer the loss of the 
soul to its unbelief, or to a rejection of the 
conditions of grace. You have often remarked 
how they contrast the condition of a penitent 
Magdalen, and a 'mourning Publican, with 
that of the self-righteous Pharisee. And this 
position is finely exemplified after the Sa- 
viour's ascent, when his murderers stood con- 
victed before Peter, and, sensible of the atro- 
city of their guilt, asked, — " Men and breth- 
ren, what shall we do?" — If ever there were 
an instance in which we might have doubted 
the salvation of the sinner, it was this. These 
men had witnessed the miracles of the Saviour 
— had seen successive evidences of his divine 
mission — had heard his heavenly instructions 
— had consented to his death, effected under 
perjured accusations— had taunted him with 
incompetency to save himself — and seemed to 



134 LETTERS TO AN 

have sealed their certain doom by the most 
awful imprecation that ever ascended to God, 
— " his blood be upon us and our children !" 
And yet the answer of the Apostle indicated 
no wavering in his own mind, respecting the 
possibility of their salvation — " repent and be 
baptized, every one of you, in the name of 
Jesus Christ. "— " Repent, — and by a public 
avowal manifested in baptism, take him to be 
your Saviour whom you treated with scorn, 
and of whose death yourselves are guilty." 

And it deserves your consideration that the 
word of God, when it announces the efficacy 
of the Redeemer's blood, never annexes a pro- 
viso that the iniquity be not too great: On the 
contrary, it meets any doubt that could arise 
on this subject in the mind of the sinner, and 
anticipates all the fears it might possibly occa- 
sion, in language which can not be misunder- 
stood. What a beautiful instance have we of 
this, in the message of God by the prophet 
Isaiah — " Come now and let us reason togeth- 
er: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall 
be as white as snow; though they be red like 
crimson, they shall be as wool." And then, 
lest fear should still be awakened, through a 
misapprehension of the Creator's character, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 135 

and the transgressor should find a plea against 
all hope, from the unrelenting temper of the 
deeply-injured party, God has left with us that 
most important admonition — "My thoughts 
are not your thoughts, neither are your ways 
my ways, saith the Lord: For as the Heavens 
are higher than the earth, so are my ways 
higher than your ways, and my thoughts than 
your thoughts. "* 

And it is this very freeness and sufficiency 
of pardon, which, if duly considered, are so 
admirably adapted to melt the heart of the 
sinner, while they take away all possible ex- 
cuse from the impenitent. If a doubt touch- 
ing the fulness of salvation remained, and if he 
had reason to pause in order to settle the ques- 
tion whether he could be included in its offers, 
there would be some apology for his delay. 
But the simple reflection that nothing on the 
part of God can withhold the most abandoned 
sinner from mercy, ought to be a powerful 
means of contrition, while it should lead to an 
immediate surrender of the whole affections to 
Christ. 

Is it not, then, adding unbelief to your for- 
mer sins, to insist on your being an exception 

* Is. lv. 8, 9. 



136 LETTERS TO AN 

to a universal rule? Is it not criminal to in- 
dulge in such awful fancies, in direct opposi- 
tion to the declarations of the Gospel? Liv- 
ing in a world where the most guilty has been 
pardoned, the most ungodly has been sancti- 
fied, and the most miserable blessed, what 
folly to retain a doubt of the riches of grace! 
What wickedness thus to veil the glory of Je- 
hovah, by making his thoughts and w T ays as 
ours, or by ascribing to him promises to whose 
performance he is not equal! — Let all dis- 
couraging surmises alone: Believe, — for God 
hath said it, — that nothing can exclude you 
from the benefit of the Redeemer's death but 
impenitence and unbelief on your own part. 
Oh it is distressing to see the convinced sin- 
ner pacing dejectedly around the promises of 
Christ; beholding their infinite worth; desir- 
ing to share in their participation; and yet, 
not only not approaching a step nearer to 
them, but listening to the idle vagaries of a 
spirit distressed, and canvassing the question 
whether he be not an exception to a rule 
which is otherwise evidently universal! Ah, 
my dear Sir, such sorrow as springs from this 
unbelief is only making work for deeper re- 
morse. It is adding reproach to the reproach- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 137 

es which have already fallen on the Saviour. 
It is nurturing a feeling as likely to be destruc- 
tive to your own best interests as it is dis- 
honourable to him. 

See, too, what a mischievous delusion is this 
under which you are now labouring. While 
you are brooding over this distress, and feed- 
ing the grief that preys upon your peace, you 
are disposed plaintively to ask, " why does 
God permit me to endure this sorrow?' 7 And 
you do not see that the fault is your own: that 
it is a sorrow which " worketh death;" which 
is no part of the means of your salvation, or of 
your pardon. — You attempt to persuade your- 
self that there is no hope in your behalf, while 
you gather all your conclusions from a mere 
moodiness of feeling. And it is upon this 
criminal state you anticipate the pity and com- 
passion of Jesus. 

Believe me, a heart penetrated with a sense 
of its past ingratitude and guilt, and looking 
to the Saviour for his pardoning mercy, will 
never be spurned from the seat whence he 
dispenses it. Hie to the Cross. The Re- 
deemer can never willingly afflict the penitent 
at the place where, incarnate, he suffered for 

the deliverance of his sinful creatures from 
p 



138 LETTERS TO AN 

sorrow and death. There maintain a resolu- 
tion to stay. And if the dread of perishing 
ever steal over you, encourage yourself with 
the simple language of the poet, 

"But should I die with mercy sought, 
When I the King have tried, 
I there should die, (reviving thought!) 
Where ne'er a sinner died." 

But if, on the contrary, you nourish appre- 
hensions, which the whole tenor of Scripture 
concurs in reproving; if " wearied with the 
greatness of your way," you continue to 
murmur and repine, the whole consequences 
and guilt are incurred by your own personal 
means. 

Farewell ! 

I am, as ever, yours, &c. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 139 



LETTER VI. 



Our propension to extremes — The Unpardonable sin — Explanation of 
passages relating to it—An example of the danger of error on this sub- 
ject. 



MY DEAR SIR, 

Has it ever occurred to you how sadly we 
are prone to extremes in the matters of eternal 
interest ? While we are yet unimpressed with 
a sense of our condition, we are not only will- 
ing to admit the extent of divine mercy, and 
the sufficiency of pardon, but we are even dis- 
posed to believe them ready at our beck; and, 
not unfrequently, secretly to fancy our salva- 
tion almost necessary to the happiness of our 
Maker. We merge all his attributes into that 
fictitious quality, — unconditional pity; while 
we consider its very times and seasons in our 
own hands. How easily we then overlook 
every perplexity which can accompany the 
Inquirer, and imagine the space between our 
mere wish and its object, so short and practi- 
cable that all present anxiety is superfluous. 
But how the scene shifts when we obtain some 
little insight into the nature of our own hearts! 



140 LETTERS TO AN 

The divine compassion which appeared so ac- 
cessible, and perhaps so venal, gives place to 
the scrutiny and exactions of justice. — Where 
now is the belief which we had so covertly 
cherished of a Heavenly interest in our fa- 
vour? Where is the persuasion founded on 
w r e know not what, — that we were safe what- 
ever became of others ? They have given 
way to a conviction nearly as strong — that we 
are precluded from hope. With such facility 
do we make the transition from presumption 
to despair! Our late petty excuses for a ne- 
glect of religion, and all those miserable sub- 
terfuges to which we love to resort, give place 
to new cares — arising from mistakes in the 
character of God, or from misconstrued ex- 
pressions in his holy Word. 

Extremes meet. Either presumption or de- 
spair may keep the sinner back from salvation ; 
and while it is not easy to say which of them 
is the more offensive in the sight of God, we 
know that either may be cherished without 
reflecting, at the time, on its moral tendency. 
Thus, the Inquirer may see his past security 
in its true light, while he is sensible of no 
guilt in questioning, as he now does, the pro- 
mises of his Maker; or in limiting the be- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 141 

nevolence of Christ. So difficult is it to keep 
in sight the sin which now besets us; and so 
much more prominent are other sins than our 
own ! 

Besides, 1 have often thought that there is 
a tendency in the anxious mind to seize on 
whatever can add to its perplexity; as a dis- 
eased appetite longs for what would have been 
loathed in a state of healthfulness. And it is 
by this tendency we account for cares which 
ought never to harass the awakened sinner; 
and for contradictions inconsistent with a pro- 
per approach to Him who is " the way, and 
the truth, and the life." 

Among these subjects of distress it is not 
wonderful that the apprehension of having 
committed the Unpardonable Sin is often 
included. — When the Inquirer can not dis- 
cover the causes of his failure, and has been 
occupying his attention with something ex- 
traneous, he very easily fancies that some 
secret and mysterious cause is operating 
against him. And, especially, when he reads 
that there is a "sin unto death" — a trans- 
gression which can never be forgiven, — he is 
not unlikely to appropriate to himself, all the 

horrors and guilt of that terrible evil. If he 
p2 



142 LETTERS TO AN 

be not able to recal to mind any act of pecu- 
liar atrocity into which he has been led, or 
any outrageous expression against the autho- 
rity of Heaven, he can, perhaps, remember 
when he strove against the convictions of his 
mind, and very possibly did despite unto the 
Holy Ghost. Or, it may be, that without 
conviction himself, he attributed the w r ork of 
God, in other minds, to some unhallowed 
cause; and now recollects his mistake with all 
the bitterness of remorseful feeling, and all the 
terrors of a visible doom. Or, if neither of 
these be visible in his past experience and 
conduct, he suspects that in some ill-fated hour 
he may have sinned beyond the hope of mer- 
cy, and unconsciously incurred the penalty of 
irremissible guilt. In a state of mind agitated 
by such fears, he is not likely to review the 
past, with all the deliberation the occasion de- 
mands, or to put a fair construction on the 
difficulties into which he is led. And the very 
anxiety which his fears have created, is often 
attributed to the dire transgression which he 
imagines himself to have committed; or more 
immediately to the spiritual desolation w T hich 
is supposed to haVe followed it. 
When we add to this the superstitious dread 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 143 

which often accompanies the mention of this 
deed of darkness, and which has been in- 
creased by public accounts of certain memo- 
rable examples, or by instances that are said 
to have occurred within the memory of some 
around us, it is not wonderful that suspicion 
should almost grow into proof. Nor should I 
be surprised if, in cases where such terrible 
forebodings have sometimes engrossed the 
mind, and no relief had been furnished to the 
despondency they occasioned, a d} 7 ing bed has 
sometimes disclosed an awful scene of despair: 
And the evil which existed in the imagination 
alone, has effectually precluded all effort to ob- 
tain the pardon of God: just as an imaginary 
disease has as effectually terminated in death, 
as a disorder that is real and local. But al- 
though despair in a death hour may be part of 
the effects of a sinful life, it is unfair to attri- 
bute it to a cause with which it may have no 
immediate connexion. 

To allow yourself to be disturbed by vague 
and indefinite apprehensions is never wise. 
But to permit them to keep you back from the 
tendered mercy of God is both folly and sin. 
Before you suffer, then, any conclusion against 
yourself, carefully travel over your ground, 



144 LETTERS TO AN 

and at least understand the premises wHch 
lead to so sad an issue. Now, are you perfect- 
ly assured what the unpardonable sin is? If 
not, any inference against yourself has been 
taken from the obstacles in your way — from 
the state of your own mind. And whatever 
this may be, it can present no effectual bar to 
your salvation. But are you aware that there 
is not a single question, within the circle of 
theological discussion, which has led to such a 
variety of opinions, as the one before us ? It 
is a singular fact that we can enumerate not 
less than thirty-two. And it is not unlikely 
that, on future inquiry, others might be found 
as injudicious as any among this number. As 
it may tend to show you how much uncertainty 
is connected with the whole question, let me 
select a portion from the mass of opinions: 

" Villifying the Holy Ghost:?'*— " The de- 
nial of God in Christ:"t — " An unmeet expres- 
sion of the Spirit:"! — "Final impenitence:" 
—"The blasphemy of infidelity .-'^—"Sin- 
ning maliciously against the truth :"f — " Uni- 
versal apostacy from God, by which the ma- 
jesty of God is maliciously opposed:' 1 



?** 



* Epiphanius. t Hillary. X Cyril. II Augustin. § Ambrose. 
fl Lyra. * * Beza. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 145 



a 



Opposition to the Word of God while con- 
vinced of its divine authority :"* — "Blas- 
phemy in the face of miracles :"t — These are 
the opinions of older writers. Modern authors 
are less divided: but still differ much on the 
subject. Some have contended that a rare 
combination of circumstances is required in 
the commission of this sin. Others insist that, in 
the present day, it is not possible to be guilty 
of it under any circumstances. While a few 
have held up the texts which are supposed to 
refer to it, as matters of awful warning. 

Some tell us that the Unpardonable Sin is a 
denial of Christ under oath, — a crime to which 
persecution exposed many in the early ages of 
the church. But if this were so, the Apostle 
Peter must have been guilty of it; for he li be- 
gan to curse and swear, saying, I know not the 
man." And there is reason to believe that the 
guilt of many impenitent sinners is still more 
aggravated, in their bold enmity to God, and 
in giving utterance to language daring as that 
of the perjured disciple. 

Some would solve the difficulty by a suppo- 
sititious case: " If the two characters, and the 
different sins, of Peter and Paul were united 

* MusculuSj Calvin, Bucer, and Piscator. \ ChrysostonL 



146 LETTERS TO AN 

in one person, this unpardonable guilt would 
be incurred."* But this supposition is fanci- 
ful in the extreme: A moment's thought will 
convince us that no such man exists. 

Other critics have contended that from the 
nature of the Hebrew idiom, in the Gospel of 
Matthew, we are to understand that the crime 
in question is not absolutely unpardonable; but 
only comparatively so, when viewed in con- 
nexion with others. And that no other con- 
struction than this would be consistent with our 
Lord's praying for his enemies on the Cross, t 

But let us proceed to a cursory examination 
of those texts which have occasioned the per- 
plexity we are considering. The first occurs 
in Matthew^ — « I say unto you, All manner of 
sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men; 
but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost 
shall not be forgiven unto men. And who- 
soever speaketh a word against the Son of Man, 
it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speak- 
eth against the Holy Ghost it shall not be for- 
given him, neither in this world, neither in 
the world to come." You will remember that 
our Saviour had just exercised his miraculous 

* Reynolds, f See Waterland's Sermon on Math. xii. 31, 33. 
t xii. 31, 32. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 147 

power in the cure of a demoniac. The Phari- 
sees saw that this proof of special and divine 
authority could not be contravened. Foiled, 
then, in their efforts, they attempted to destroy 
the credit of the miracle, by imputing the 
whole agency to Satan. It was in this their 
criminality seems to have consisted; as another 
Evangelist tells us — "because the Pharisees 
said he hath an unclean spirit/' The doctrines 
and work of the Holy Ghost were not only re- 
jected, but maliciously calumniated, and im- 
puted to the Prince of Darkness. 

Now it is somewhat questionable how near 
any sin committed at the present day, can ap- 
proach to this. It is certain that malicious op- 
position to the miracles of the Holy Ghost can 
not be exhibited; for no such testimony of di- 
vine power is now visible. And with respect 
to the spirit of the threat itself, the exposition 
of some other texts, before I close this Letter, 
may, perhaps, throw some light on it. 

The next passage under consideration is 
found in the Epistle to the Hebrews.* — " For 
it is impossible for those who were once en- 
lightened and have tasted of the Heavenly gift, 
and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, 

* vi. 4, 5, 6. 



148 LETTERS TO AN 

and have tasted the good word of God, and the 
powers of the world to come, if they shall fall 
away, to renew them again unto repentance; 
seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of 
God afresh, and put him to an open shame." 
We should examine these expressions sepa- 
rately: 

The persons alluded to were Ci once enlight- 
ened." Life and immortality being brought 
to light, all who had received knowledge of 
the truth were called " enlightened" in dis- 
tinction from the moral darkness of Heathenism. 
But this illumination, although it might bring 
some hope to the mind, is not to be confound- 
ed with the sanctifying and saving influence of 
the spirit — the only true hope of the soul. 
" Have tasted of the Heavenly gift" — The 
term "gift" here, refers to the new Gospel 
state. And " tasting" implies so far an ex- 
amination of it as to induce a conviction that it 
was a more excellent state than that in which 
the subject had been, while a Pagan or a Jew. 
A very similar meaning should be attached to 
" the good Word of God." Being made 
"partakers of the Holy Ghost" is understood 
by our best expounders, to apply to the pos- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 149 

session of those spiritual gifts which were 
sometimes conferred, in the Apostolic age, 
even on those who had only an historical or 
speculative faith : — among which were included 
the gifts of tongues and prophecy. " The 
powers of the world to come" meant the 
miracles performed under the Gospel dispen- 
sation; which had always been denominated 
" the age, or world, to come." 

Before w r e examine the remainder of this 
passage, let me introduce another of similar 
import: "If we sin wilfully after we receive 
the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth 
no more sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearful 
looking-for of judgment."* It will assist us 
in our attempt to understand both these quota- 
tions, if we recollect that they were addressed 
to persons supposed to be familiar with the 
Law of Moses. In that dispensation, you will 
recollect that there were certain sins for which 
no provision was made by sacrifice; — especial- 
ly presumptuous transgressions; with respect 
to which God had said, immediately after giv- 
ing the regulations concerning sacrifices, — 
"But the soul that doth ought presumptuous- 
ly, whether he be born in the land, or a 

'Heb. x. 26,27- 
Q 



150 LETTERS TO AN 

stranger, the same reproacheth the Lord; and 
that soul shall be cut off from among his peo- 
ple. Because he hath despised the Word of 
the Lord; and hath broken his commandment, 
that soul shall utterly be cut off; his iniquity 
shall be upon him."* Or in regard to open 
idolatry; of which it had been said, — " If there 
be found among you, within any of thy gates 
which the Lord thy God giveth thee, man or 
woman, that hath wrought wickedness. in the 
sight of the Lord thy God, in transgressing his 
covenant, and hath gone and served other 
Gods and worshipped them, &c."t The pun- 
ishment in all such cases was death, by law. 
But are we hence to conclude that there could 
be no remission of sin in any case for w T hich no 
sacrifice had been legally provided ? — Surely 
not. Numerous transgressions were pardoned 
through the sacrifice of Christ, then remaining 
to be offered. You have examples of this in 
Aaron, David, and Manasseh; for some of 
whose sins there was no sacrifice appointed by 
law. It is in reference to this the Apostle 
speaks, when he says of those who reject the 
atonement of Jesus Christ, that " there re- 
maineth no more sacrifice for sins." His 

* Numb. xv. 30, 31. t Deuteronomy, xvii. 2—7. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 151 

meaning seems to be, that as there can be no 
salvation out of Christ, they must perish who 
persist in refusing this. But then such is 
neither more nor less than a case of final im- 
penitence. And it is only as such the awaken- 
ed sinner ought now to view it. 

There is another consideration which should 
always be kept in mind in reading the awful 
threatenings of God, — and that, too, when they 
appear, at first sight, entirely absolute: I 
mean, that all these threatenings are condi- 
tional. The declaration of Joshua to the 
children of Israel would seem appalling, — " Ye 
can not serve the Lord, for he is an holy God; 
he is a jealous God; he will not forgive your 
transgressions nor your sins." Yet the Pa- 
triarch certainly could not have intended to 
declare that there was no possible pardon for 
their sins, if they sought it in a penitent and 
becoming manner. The same limitation must 
be preserved in reading the address of Moses, 
when he says of Jehovah — "Beware of him, 
and obey his voice, provoke him not, for he 
will not pardon your transgressions." 

It is true, My Dear Sir, that the language 
of Scripture, respecting apostates, assumes a 
peculiar awfulness: And it is indeed a melan- 



152 LETTERS TO AN 

choly thought that few of them ever reach re- 
pentance. And yet I would not dare conclude 
that their case is always hopeless. We have 
reason to trust otherwise even for this wretch- 
ed and apparently abandoned class, in certain 
instances. The Apostle Paul, in his instruc- 
tions to Timothy, plainly refers to them; 
where, after speaking of Hymenoeus and 
Philetus, who had deserted the truth, although 
they still retained the name of Christianity, 
he says, — If God peradventure will give 
them repentance"* Indeed of the former of 
these persons, and of another of the same de- 
scription, the Apostle had said that he had 
"delivered them unto Satan;" or, as the ex- 
pression implies, had banished them from the 
Visible Church; and that, not as a matter of 
mere vengeance; but in order that " they 
might learn not to blaspheme" — or, that they 
might be led to repentance. 

The last text which we will examine on this 
subject, and which seems less equivocal than 
either of the preceding, and has, perhaps, a 
more formidable aspect than any other in the 
Bible, is that of the Apostle John:t — " If any 

* See the whole of this example— 2 Timothy, Chap. ii. 17, 18—24, 25. 
t John, v. 16. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 153 

man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto 
death he shall ask, and he shall give him life 
for them that sin not unto death. There is a 
sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray 
for it." There is something so terrific in the 
language, " I do not say that he shall pray 
for it" that it has often fore-gathered the de- 
spair of an impenitent and remorseful dying 
hour. We almost fancy before us the wretch- 
ed subject, singled out by a judicial hand: the 
frost of the second death chilling all possible 
hope in his behalf: and even the Christian 
bidden to look with mute astonishment on the 
abandoned reprobate. All this appears to be 
the consequence of a construction very com- 
monly put upon the language before us. And 
how many impolitic measures has it sometimes 
occasioned ! To what ill-advised and rash con- 
clusions has it led, in the minds of some who 
mistook an active opposition to the cause of 
Christ for this nameless and desperate crime! 

Let me place before you the three or four of 
the most plausible interpretations of this ex- 
traordinary passage. The first is, that it is in- 
tended as a general direction relative to the 
subjects of prayer — that we are bound to offer 

up our petitions for all, excepting those who 
Q2 



154 LETTERS TO AN 

have committed the Unpardonable Sin. But 
this construction supposes the ordinary Chris- 
tian always to know when the Unpardonable 
Sin has been committed; which is absurd. 
And if it be said that the application is only to 
those who possess the gift of discerning spirits, 
then it would favour the inference that this sin 
could have been committed only in the early 
ages of the Church; or else the direction, if ap- 
plicable at the present time, should have been 
accompanied by some obvious sign by which 
it might be distinguished. 

Another interpretation is, — " any transgres- 
sion obstinately persevered in; and which, of 
course, not being repented of, must end in the 
eternal death of the guilty. This impenitence 
being known to the ancient Christian, from the 
simple fact that he was not moved by the Holy 
Ghost to pray for it, he conceived himself for- 
bidden to hope for pardon in behalf of the sin- 
ner." But the truth is, we are no where en- 
couraged to ask for the remission of unrepented 
guilt, either for ourselves or others. The ut- 
most we can do, is to entreat that repentance 
may be given; and all the rest will then be 
well. Yet, if the above interpretation were 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 155 

admissible, you could have no personal interest 
in the case. 

Others suppose that the transgressor having 
been one who made a public avowal of his faith 
in Christianity, and thus standing within the 
pale of the Visible Church, evinced, by his un- 
holy life, that his profession was hypocritical; 
and, that, accordingly, the Christian was not to 
regard him in the light of a brother, or pray 
for him, as such: because he could not plead 
any of the promises in his behalf. 1 have only 
to say that this construction seems to be rather 
constrained. And yet if it were just, it fur- 
nishes an example of no possible application to 
the awakened sinner. 

The last interpretation I will mention, is the 
one which seems to me most consistent with 
the other portions of Scripture, already cited: 

You are aware that the primitive Church 
was guarded with peculiar care from the en- 
croachments of vice; and it was this which so 
effectually secured its stability and extension. 
As one means of completing this end, the more 
flagrant violations of law were punished with 
visible, and often severe, temporal judgments. 
It was hence the Apostle said to the Corin- 
thians, who had been guilty of most criminal 



156 LETTERS TO AN 

irregularities in the ordinance of the Lord's 
Supper — " For this cause many are weak and 
sickly among you and many sleep" — or, are 
dead. But as the gift of healing was conferred 
on some of these early Christians, it was used 
in behalf of such as had repented of the sins 
which brought on the malady. And it is to 
this the Apostle James refers, in a similar 
case.* I should find very little hesitation, in 
my own mind, in concluding that such is the 
reference in this contested verse. In that case, 
the restriction of prayer related only to the 
diseases in question; and not in the least to the 
spirital condition of the sufferer. 

1 am very confident that the Word of God, 
in all its general representations of character, 
considers the sinner, while in this world, with- 
in the range of Divine mercy. If there ever 
have been any particular exceptions, it must 
have been those who, in the Apostolic age, 
after being privileged with extraordinary light, 
and gifted perhaps with miraculous power, 
turned traitors to the faith, and openly blas- 
phemed the Holy Ghost. And this restriction 
of prayer was not unlike that of the prophet 
Jeremiah, in an earlier period of the Church; 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 157 

when he was forbidden to ask a reversal of the 
sentence to captivity, and yet, at the same 
time, continued to admonish the people, and 
to pray for their salvation.* 

It should be admitted, — and the melancholy 
truth reveals an alarming admonition — that 
all, or any, opposition to Divine Grace, has a 
tendency to accomplish its own work of ruin 
in the soul of the opposer. And it is not easy 
for us to say how far this tendency may be ac- 
companied by the spiritual judgments of God. 
But one thing on this subject is very certain: 
— No one who has ever sinned beyond the 
possibility of remission, is painfully convinced 
of having done so, and yet still lives under the 
opportunities of the Gospel. A seared con- 
science and an impenitent mind must invariably 
attend the fate of the reprobate. The presages 
of this fate, — if any occurred at all, — would be 
faint and few. His calm would be unbroken. 
A fearful silence of all warning would suffer 
him to slumber on; and the hour of his awak- 
ening would be in the light of Eternity. 

An instance of the distressing effects of fear, 
on this subject, which now occurs to me, may 
not be out of place. It is one of the many 

* Compare Jer. vii. 14—16 with Micah., vii. 8, 9—19,20. 



158 LETTERS TO AN 

which may tend to show the consequences of 
error on a susceptible mind: Mr. L. had en- 
joyed the privilege of sitting under an able and 
successful ministry. His heart had been 
touched. And during a remarkable period, in 
which he saw many of his friends embracing 
the hope of salvation, his own convictions in- 
creased. Not long after, his feelings of impa- 
tience became sensitive. His attention was, 
subsequently, turned from its own proper ob- 
ject, to one more nearly connected with our 
natural selfishness. He ceased to be an In- 
quirer, and became an objector. It is hard to 
stop here. Opposition succeeded a habit of 
objecting. And apparent bitterness of pre- 
judice and malevolence of expression, were 
observable whenever he opened his lips on the 
subject of religion. Still the past day of con- 
viction was a memorable time to him. Five 
years afterwards, he was again aroused to a 
sense of his danger. And with the alarm came 
the frightful recollection of his former conduct. 
Language which he had uttered, — and which 
appeared nearly allied to blasphemy, — return- 
ed fresh to his memory. He accused himself 
of having committed the Unpardonable Sin. 
All efforts to persuade him to the contrary 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 159 

were unavailing. The impression was daily- 
deepening. His mind lost its elasticity; and a 
moody temperament succeeded. His friends 
were alarmed. A suspicion was started among 
them, that his conclusions might be just. This 
he marked, and laboured to confirm it. He 
seemed, — I know not how, — to take a nega- 
tive satisfaction in stating the desperation of 
his case; and in watching the fallen counte- 
nance of sympathy. 

Many months had transpired, during which 
he was the subject of religious gossip with 
some, — of a kind of superstitious dread with 
others, — and of fervent prayer with a few of 
the remainder; — when the case was stated to a 
judicious Minister, whom some Providence had 
called into the neighbourhood. He waited on 
Mr. L., who, far from being averse to any con- 
versation relative to his own state, seemed 
rather to court it. He was fluent in all the de- 
tails of time and circumstance; and always 
ended his narrative with the declaration that 
he had ceased forever to pray. After a pre- 
paratory interchange of remarks, he was 
asked — " You believe yourself guilty of the 
Unpardonable Sin ?" 

" I am sure of it." 



160 LETTERS TO AN 

" In what did the crime consist?" 

" I opposed the work of God." 

"So did Saul." 

" I denied Jesus Christ." 

" So did a Disciple afterwards honoured by 
his Master. 

"I doubted the power of Jesus Christ, after 
strong evidences in its favour." 

" So did Thomas." 

" What! are you attempting to prove by such 
examples that I am a Christian?" 

"Not at all: I am only inquiring into the 
nature of your guilt; and thus far I see no rea- 
son for despair." 

" I have hated God," — rejoined the self-con- 
demned,—" and openly avowed my enmity in 
sight of his Divine operations." 

"Thus far your case is lamentable indeed; 
but not hopeless still. Our hearts are naturally 
at enmity with God. And I do not see why 
the open avowal of this, drawn out by the sight 
of the Law, into visible form, must necessarily 
and always constitute the guilt of which you 
accuse yourself." 

" I feel that I am cut off from salvation." 

"It is difficult to reason against your feel- 
ings. But they are no proof on the present sub- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 161 

ject. Let me inquire whether you desire the 
pardon of your sins?" 

" Assuredly; if it were possible." 

"Do you regret the conduct of which you 
accuse yourself?" 

"Certainly." 

" Do you sincerely desire repentance?" 

" 1 would give the world, if it were mine, 
to be able to do so." 

" Then it is not possible that you have been 
guilty to an unpardonable extent: for these are 
characteristics of a state of mind faithless, but 
far from being desperate. And they come with- 
in the design of the Gospel invitations." 

There was something simple and touching in 
this mode of ministering to a mind diseased. 
And it produced an effect which, probably, no 
other process, could have accomplished. Mr. 
L. did not long survive this interview. But 
his living and dying hours were those of a fa- 
voured Christian. 

It is, perhaps, hardly fair to speculate on con- 
tingencies in such a case as this. But, human- 
ly speaking, had Mr. L. been removed from 
time, without such providential interference, it 
would have been with the melancholy convic- 



162 LETTERS TO AN 

tion in his own, and other minds, that he 
had been guilty of this fearful evil. And 
yet, had he gone down without hope to the 
grave, final unbelief and impenitence would 
have been the ground of his condemnation, 
and not the guilt of the Unpardonable Sin. 

Let me pray you, My Dear Sir, to dismiss 
this whole subject, as one with which, at this 
time, particularly, you have nothing to do. 
There is enough before you to engross all 
your solicitude, without seeking subjects of 
unnecessary anxiety. 
Adieu. 

I am very truly, &c. 



LETTER VII. 

The disposition to discouragement— Discouraging texts in the Bible — An 
explanation of Luke, xiii. 24 — Prov. i. 23.— Hebrew, xii. 17— Hosea, 
iv. 17. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

I would not say that it is always perverse 
ness in the disposition of the Inquirer, which 
leads him to misapply the language of the Scrip- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 163 

tures; although there might be some truth in a 
general charge of this nature. The timidity 
which the importance of the subject in which 
he is engaged, may produce in his mind, will 
easily awaken unhappy suspicions against him- 
self. And they may be led into activity by 
any thing which wears the semblance of dis- 
couragement. This is the natural effect upon 
a temper whose bias is sorrowful; and which is 
so much more readily attracted by difficulties 
than by the simplicity of the Gospel. Espe- 
cially when we recollect, as I have already in- 
timated, how prone is such a mind to look for 
the causes of its perplexity out of itself, and to 
fancy their existence where there could be no 
possible reason for fear. An accusing con- 
science is not only distrustful, but is a skilful 
artificer of its sorrow. 

Some of the Scriptural passages which you 
have noted, are certainly adapted to awaken the 
inconsiderate, and to promote in us all a dili- 
gence to make our calling and election sure. — 
But not one of them was designed to thwart the 
purpose of the sincere Inquirer; or to render 
more precarious the confidence he is bound to 
repose in the Saviour. For proof of this position 
let us look into the meaning of some of those 



164 LETTERS TO AN 

passage swhich are usually considered discour- 
aging. And we will begin with that in the thir- 
teenth chapter of Luke: " Strive to enter in 
at the straight gate: for many, I say unto 
you, will seek to enter in, aad shall not be 
able." 

The difficulty which this text presents, arises 
from disconnecting it with the subsequent verse: 
And hence it is concluded that all who apply, 
sincerely, for salvation, will not be embraced 
in the number of the saved. According to this 
interpretation, the Redeemer's argument in fa- 
vour of diligence, is drawn from the frequent 
failure of effort in the Awakened Sinner. A 
failure which, it is supposed, is attributed to a 
defect in the manner of seeking, or to a want 
of perseverance and engagedness in that duty. 

Now it is perfectly true that inactivity is 
wholly inconsistent with success: that funda- 
mentally mistaken notions are equally so: and 
that he who asks for pardon and mercy, with- 
out, in some measure, feeling the importance 
of the boon he solicits, will ask in vain. The 
word in this passage which we translate 
"strive" is a strong figure of speech, import- 
ing all that ardour and resolution which distin- 
guish the successful antagonist, on the arena, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 165 

or the victorious soldier, on the field of battle. 
And it intimates that the " straight gate" is 
surrounded by powerful foes, through whom 
he is to contend his way. It gives the reason 
of failure in many who set out with apparent 
sincerity. But while it does all this, it pre- 
judges the fate of no awakened and penitent 
sinner. 

Had the Saviour meant that persons of the 
same degree of sincerity might fail or succeed; 
and that the Sovereignty of God, independent 
of the desires and exertions of the applicant, — 
or his faith or repentance — would decide the 
question of success, this would not only have 
been inconsistent with Scripture — not only 
discouraging in the extreme — but remote from 
the purpose which he seems to have had, at 
that time, before him. He was not speaking 
of a change of heart, or the beginning of a new 
life. This had been his subject, on a former 
occasion,* when the expression " straight 
gate" referred to the commencement of the 
Christian career. But that occasion is not to 
be confounded, either in its time or circumstan- 
ces, with the present, in which the same term 

* Matthew, vii. 13. 

r2 



166 LETTERS TO AN 

has reference to the end of life — the entrance 
into Heaven. 

The present passage refers to a marriage fes- 
tival, according to the splendid manner and nu- 
merous attendance by which it was distinguish- 
ed in Eastern custom: and during which the 
wicket, or narrow gate, alone was left open, 
that the crowd might not intrude, and that 
none but invited or accepted guests might en- 
ter. In such ceremonies, after a given hour, 
the door was shut, and all ingress was imprac- 
ticable. 

You will observe, then, that there is nothing 
here in the language of Jesus Christ intimating 
that any who come unto him will be cast out. 
But if a love of the world keep the sinner from 
the terms of grace, and he is rejected accord- 
ingly, the fault is entirely his own; while the 
justice of God will be vindicated in his con- 
demnation at the last day. And that, too, al- 
though the excluded sinner may have worn the 
badge of a profession, and enjoyed all the pri- 
vileges of light and knowledge. 

That passage in Proverbs which you quote — 
" Then shall they call upon me, but I will 
not answer; they shall seek me early, but 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 167 

they shall not find me"* is less dishearten- 
ing than you imagine! The whole sentence 
contains a solemn warning to those who are 
averse to the knowledge of their natural con- 
dition — the great mark of the unregenerate— 
and who practically despise the overtures of 
divine mercy. But then, that warning is ta- 
ken from the final desolation of the impenitent; 
and not from God's manner of dealing in the 
present world. The word " early," w T hich 
obscures the sense, should be exchanged for 
" earnestly" — a translation which conveys a 
more consistent meaning. 

Your next quotation deserves more particu- 
lar notice; not because it really contains any 
very serious difficulty in itself, but because the 
mischievous impressions which a misunder- 
standing of it has sometimes left, are deep and 
distressing — " Let there be any— profane 
person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat 
sold his birth-right. For ye know how that 
afterward, when he would have inherited 
the blessing, he was rejected: for he found 
no place of repentance, though he sought it 
carefully with tears" 

There is something truly terrifying in the 

• Prov. i. 28. 



168 LETTERS TO AN 

idea of a person deeply regretting his past mis- 
conduct, labouring to repent of the evil, but ut- 
terly unable to affect his mind with a proper 
sense of it. And this picture is the more dis- 
tressing when accompanied with the convic- 
tion of having forfeited all hope of salvation, 
for some petty present gain; having bartered 
eternal life, for a momentary gratification, 
without the possibility of revoking the con- 
tract: and that, too, when the folly had been 
the impulse of passion; or, still more excusable, 
occasioned by the cravings of hunger. It is 
this representation which often appears before 
the mind of the alarmed sinner, in the passage 
cited, and attaches an arbitrary precariousness 
to the salvation of the soul. And if, in addition 
to this, the dealings of God towards him, had 
been distinguished in his providences, in times 
that are past, a comparison with the case of 
Esau is easily instituted, and the most poig- 
nant reflections are gathered from it. He can 
possibly recollect when he had been penetrated 
with a feeling sense of his lost condition: when, 
for a season, the importance of religion had oc- 
cupied and engrossed his thoughts. He can re- 
collect, too, how he abandoned the inquiry un- 
der the influence of worldly considerations; or, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 169 

it might have been, for some short-lived plea- 
sure. Desirous as he may now be to renew 
those impressions, he finds it not possible to 
recall the same class of feelings. And sensible 
as he may be, of guilt and ill-desert, he bitterly 
laments his inability to reach a state of mind, 
which he considers irrecoverably lost. He fan- 
cies himself unable to " find place of repentance, 
though sought carefully with tears." And he 
sees in Esau, an instance so closely resembling 
his own, that hope dies within him as he con- 
templates it; and he believes the only alterna- 
tive now before him to be a return to the world, 
or a fruitless brooding over his lost condition: 
— a sad choice of evils, either of which must be 
fatal to his eternal happiness. 

That it is possible to " seek a place of repent- 
ance carefully with tears " without being 
ever able to comply with the primary condition 
of salvation, supposes that irremediable state 
which distinguishes none but the lost. And 
yet an apprehension of such a state has more 
than once, to my own knowledge, been 
wrought in the mind of the sinner, by the text 
we are now considering. Nor is it surprising 
that it should be so when we recollect the live- 
ly and pointed manner in which the language 



170 LETTERS TO AN 

would seem to describe the past and the present 
state of the backslider. 

The simple truth, however, is, that the ver- 
ses before us, have no relation whatever to the 
state of the Inquirer: and it is a tincture of me- 
lancholy which gives them an aspect not pro- 
perly theirs. 

The Apostle is here addressing professing 
Christians: and he presents an example of the 
danger of departing from the truth as it is in 
Jesus; and of exchanging the high privileges of 
the faithful, for the temporary advantages of 
the world. A profane person is properly one 
who lightly esteems, or despises sacred things. 
Such was Esau. His birthright, which, ac- 
cording to the economy in which he lived, 
held peculiar religious honours — not to add its 
pecuniary emolument—he bartered for a brief 
present indulgence. No excuse could paliate 
this conduct: for it evidently implied a very 
slight value set upon the privilege. Now, of 
what was it he repented ? — of his gross sin in 
the sight of God? Not at all. He regretted 
his folly: and sought place of repentance in his 
father's mind; or in other words, he sought a 
reversal of his father's decision respecting the 
blessing: and that not immediately; but forty 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 171 

years after the transaction was over. And this 
unavailing regret was not only such from the 
late hour in which it occurred — during the 
whole interval to which he had continued im- 
penitent — and from the irrevocable investiture 
of the blessing in another, — but it was unavail- 
ing from its very nature. All his vehemency 
and tears arose from considerations completely 
selfish, and inconsistent with sincere penitence 
of heart. He sought nothing from his offended 
God; while, at the same time, he retained a 
feeling of rancour towards his brother. Be- 
sides — it was the pique of pride — the wounding 
of ambition — under which he smarted. The 
object of his desire was nothing spiritual: it 
was, to have that clause transferred to himself 
— " be Lord over thy brethren, and let thy 
mother's sons bow down to thee." Had he, 
before God, sought repentance in his own 
heart, and earnestly desired the special bless- 
ings of salvation, there was nothing to prevent 
his obtaining them. 

In all this you see there is no parallel with 
the case of the Awakened Sinner. The circum- 
stances, the object sought, the kind of repent- 
ance desired — as the Apostle applies them, — 
give an admonition to the members of the V i- 



172 LETTERS TO AN 

sible Church, by a very plain inference; but 
they present no discouragement to the Inquir- 
er. And if they furnish any lesson to sin- 
ners in general, it is, indirectly, the hazard of 
delay, or, the great importance of improving 
the present moment. 

Let me now say that any uneasiness you 
have entertained on this subject, should lead 
you to reflect on the necessity and duty of tak- 
ing every passage of Scripture in connexion 
with its broad and general truths. The Word 
of God will illustrate, but never contradict, 
itself. A detached sentence may fill the heart 
with terror, when it never was intended to do 
so. But carry it to the light of some other 
truth, and you will see that there is nothing to 
deter, but every thing to encourage the return- 
ing sinner. 

You again adduce the language of Jehovah 
— " Ephraim is joined to idols, — let him 
alone"* — as an evidence that some may be 
without the inclosure of hope, notwithstand- 
ing any desire, on their part, to return to God. 
But surely, he who is " joined to his idols" — 
who is obstinately bent on pursuits and plea- 

' Hosea, iv. 17. 






ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 173 

sures dishonorable to God, and inimical to 
spirituality, can have no sincere desire in this 
behalf. 

Moreover, if these words were designed to 
indicate to an idolatrous people, that their 
doom Was now sealed, and that no more ef- 
fort should be made for their good, the curse 
would have carried its own sign along with 
it — a cessation on the part of God to break in 
on their insensibility. But the Prophet con- 
tinues to expostulate with pathos and earnest- 
ness — " Oh Israel, return unto the Lord thy 
God; for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity. 
Take with you words, and return unto the 
Lord: say unto him, take away all iniquity, 
and receive us graciously."* 

All this pleading is certainly inconsistent 
with the idea of a state of abandoned hopeless- 
ness. It announces the unretracted offer of 
pardon, on condition of repentance. 

The admonition in the quoted passage, then, 
was not intended to intimate that the doom of 
this people was sealed. Nor was it a prohi- 
bition to the Ministers of the Sanctuary from 
preaching to this rebellious race; or they 
would have obeyed it. The whole history, 

* Hosea, xiv. 1, 2. 




174 



LETTERS TO AN 






.** 



and the connexion of the text, plainly show 
that the sentence was an order to Judah, to 
refrain from all unnecessary commerce with 
idolatrous Ephraim : " Let them alone. Though 
Israel sin, yet let not Judah offend/' Him-' 
plied the danger arising from evil communi- 
cation, and particular communication with those 
guilty of so infectious a sin as that of idolatry. 
It was the application of a maxim of daily use. 

That God may, and sometimes does, leave, 
men to a perverse temper, and a hardened 
mind, is a truth, which, however painful it 
may be, is too plain to be denied. But the 
Awakened Sinner is in a situation directly the 
reverse of this. His sense of danger is neither 
accidental nor nugatory. The Holy Spirit 
has appealed to him: And that appeal has 
startled him. In doing this, it could hardly 
be the intention of the Creator to remind him 
of his doom only to leave him to wretched- 
ness. In a case of utter hopelessness, that 
deep wslumberof all susceptibility, which is so 
portentous to the observer, would be unnoted 
in the mind of the subject himself, while it 
would prevent any discovery of his condition. 

And yet this doom does not consist in the 
infliction of any positive evil on the part of 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 175 

™* Li * %► 

God; nor may it be in the withdrawal of the 
means of grace. For if the lost soul could, as 
I have elsewhere said, ascribe his perdition 
exclusively to an absolute divine determina- 
tion, his sufferings would be mitigated, if not 
removed. But the very reverse of this — the 
consciousness of his personal guilt — will be 
the means of promoting his endless wretched- 
ness. 

The only proof that any one is in a hopeless 
condition, must consist in his perverse con- 
tinuance in unbelief and impenitence. As 
long as he so remains, there is every reason 
for apprehension; and the more so, in propor- 
tion to the length of time, and the extent of 
his privileges. Should he die in this state, we 
have the assurance of his ruin. But the mo- 
ment we have evidence of his awakening to a 
sense of sin, and repenting of it, our grounds 
of alarm are removed. And he may be satis- 
fied that God is fully as willing to accept of 
him as of any sinner on earth. It is our duty 
to take warning from the fact that thousands 
die with a seared conscience, to whom in life, 
every opportunity was offered. But if it be 
our own earnest desire to escape such a doom 
as justice dispenses to them, and if we adopt 



176 LETTEHS TO AN 

the means, under God, of doing so, we may- 
dismiss all fears of being included among their 
number: fully assured, as we should be, that 
the loss of the soul must be a fault of our own. 

Once more, My Dear Sir, let me beseech 
you to cease harassing yourself with imaginary 
difficulties. Say no more with the sorrowing 
women who were seeking their Lord — " who 
shall roll us away the stone?" — The stone is 
already gone. No impediment is in our way 
to salvation, but such as we place there our- 
selves. The fountain of mercy is unlocked: 
and the path to it is as open and plain as infi- 
nite love can make it. 

When you take up the Holy Volume, see 
that you do not render it " a snare and a trap." 
Let no apparent inconsistency startle you. 
Remember that you are not called on to re- 
concile its declarations, but to believe them. 
Once admitted into your heart, they will re- 
concile themselves. " Be not afraid, only be- 
lieve," is the language of the blessed Re- 
deemer himself. 

I am yours, &c. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 177 



LETTER VIII. 

Perplexity of reading the word of God— Complaint of the want of personal 
application — Natural aversion to the Bible — Mistaken expectations — An 
impious practice— Failure arising from listlessness in reading -Want of 
consideration— Forgetting that God is the author — Looking for an ex- 
traneous something— How the Spirit imparts the right meaning— Duty 
of becoming familiar with the Plan of Salvation— Caution relative to 
reading other books — Concluding advice. 

MY DEAR SIR. 

One of your expressions merits particular 
notice: " Although I am confident that the 
Bible is the Word of God, and that it is the 
ordinary means, in his hands, of relieving 
the spiritual wants of his Creatures, yet it 
appears not of the least avail to me. It 
meets none of my difficulties. It presents 
no personal application to my own mind. 
There is in it nothing that is suitable to my 
exigencies. I have thought a thousand 
times, that I should rejoice to see a plain 
delineation of myself ; something in a tan- 
gible form, to fix and rivet my attention. 
It is of the reverse of all this I complain. 
Every thing appears confused and indefi- 
nite, as it regards my own situation. In 
s2 



178 LETTERS TO AN 

some portions of this Book, I can discover 
beauties which my judgment approves; 
and I can take some little interest in its 
Historical records. But although I task 
myself, in hopes of some development, or 
some discovery not yet made, I shut it 
again and again, as much in the dark as 
ever." 

Sad complaint of a soul distressed with a 
sense of its loneliness, and sighing for an ob- 
ject suited to its necessities! And what a dis- 
appointment does it indicate! To how many 
murmurs does it give rise! How often does 
it create a wish that the Bible were not what 
it is! — But where is the fault ? Certainly not 
in the book itself; but in the mind of the 
reader. And, in evidence of this, we might 
mention the different impressions which may 
be made on the same mind, at different times, 
and under different circumstances. The Scrip- 
tures are not always the same to the Christian 
himself. In seasons of coldness their energy 
and interest are, in a great measure, lost. Con- 
viction of their intrinsic value, and individual 
reference, will indeed continue. But it is 
conviction from past, not from present expe- 
rience. And even in the mind destitute of 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 179 

any spiritual taste, the effect left by a perusal 
of the sacred pages may, and does, vary, both 
in degree and character. The same may be 
asserted of any piece of intelligence, which 
shall be of equal value to ten persons, to whom 
it is communicated, and yet the effect shall not 
be precisely the same upon any two of them. 
It must be admitted as an universal truth, 
that the natural understanding can have no 
relish for the spiritualities of the Gospel. A 
man of this description would not only enter- 
tain some repugnance to its phraseology, or 
the singularity of its diction — a fault, if it be 
such, which arose from the state of the age in 
which our translation was made, as well as 
from a subject without analogy — but he 
would regard it as something so mystical in 
its character, and so different from his natural 
ideas of religion, as to produce an aversion 
which he may often find it difficult to repress. 
Habit and education may, in certain cases, and 
to a certain degree, qualify this repugnance. 
And a sense of duty, or a negative kind of 
veneration for what is divine, might carry the 
effect somewhat further. Yet without an ac- 
quired taste for spiritual things, there can be 
none of those peaceful feelings which are the 



ISO LETTERS TO AN 

legitimate fruits of the Holy Word in the re- 
newed soul. 

But admitted as all this may be, on the part 
of the Inquirer, it furnishes no solution to his 
most pressing questions. ' If he can not enter 
with all that freedom into the comforts of the 
Gospel, so fully avowed by the growing Chris- 
tian: if there be no delight for him in ponder- 
ing the testimonies of God — why does he not 
find something suited to his own case, in a 
Revelation expressly intended to be univer- 
sal — something adapted to relieve an anxiety 
its own truths have occasioned?' Perhaps 
the following remarks may furnish a partial 
answer to his question: The convicted sin- 
ner is usually disposed, on his first alarm, to 
resort to the Bible for light and relief; and he 
is right in doing so. But he is not unapt to 
open its pages with expectations which can 
never be justified by success. He looks di- 
rectly for some instantaneous operation upon 
his mind, perceptible in itself and miraculous 
in its nature. He has, perhaps, heard of 
the wonderful influence thus produced upon 
others, and readily anticipates the same in 
his own behalf. Something is immediately 
to occur worthy of the power of the Divine 






ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 181 

Word. Some energetic passage is to carry its 
force, at once, to the heart, with light and 
life. He reads. — No such result ensues. — 
And the disappointment changes the attitude 
of his thoughts, and the nature of the impres- 
sions. 

Now the cause of this disappointment is 
obvious. His mind has been occupied with 
fanciful expectations, and the proper bearing 
of the truths which he read, was suffered to 
escape it. A miraculous energy w T as antici- 
pated from language, without its reaching him 
by the ordinary channel of reflection and 
comparison. This is a perversion of the de- 
sign of the Scriptures. And it was no won- 
der it was fruitless of all benefit to the heart 
or to the mind. Whatever extraordinary 
events of this kind may have occurred in 
the lives of others — and not a few of them 
have been the offspring of a heated imagina- 
tion — they should never form the object of 
our own expectations. The dealings of the 
Holy Spirit are not likely to be inconsistent 
with what is suited to man as an intelligent 
and intellectual creature. Depend upon it, 
any expectation of miraculous influence, as 
the ground of consolation, or as the rule of 



182 LETTERS TO AN 

practice, is indicative of some radical defect. 
Here the hope is not placed upon any thing 
in the Word itself, but, virtually, on the ex- 
pected influence, whatever it may be. This 
is a regard to neither reason nor revelation; 
but it may be the effect of that superstition to 
which a weak mind is ever prone; and from 
which an intellect of even greater strength is 
not always exempted. And if there be any 
thing, above all others, most adapted to pro- 
mote an unhallowed enthusiasm, it is this. 

I have known others who looked for no mi- 
raculous effect on their feeling, and yet who 
stretched their expectations to a point not less 
far: Who, in the midst of distressing fears, 
resolved to dismiss their apprehensions, or to 
change them into despair, by an appeal to 
which they were confident of an answer: and, 
for this purpose, resolved, that on opening the 
Bible the first passage should be taken as the 
answer from God respecting their future fate. 
And an instance is now presented to my own 
recollection, of this baneful trifling with the 
hidden things of God. 

It was that of a female who had suffered a 
morbidness of feeling to weaken both her 
sense of duty and her judgment. In an un- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 183 

happy moment she had resolved to take the 
first verse which met her eye as her answer 
from Heaven. The experiment failed; for the 
verse was a portion of genealogy. The next 
trial presented a sentence quite as incapable of 
leading to any decision. The third produced 
a word of reproof to the impenitent sinner. 
This was deemed conclusive. The former fail- 
ures were considered a reluctance on the part 
of her Maker to disclose her fate; and this idea 
strengthened the conviction that a final answer 
had been given her. The shock which succeed- 
ed this supposed discovery was followed by a 
gradual and growing indifference to the con- 
cerns of her soul. Happily, some years after 
these serious impressions returned ; and the sub- 
ject of them is now, we have reason to believe, 
an eminent Christian. And to this day, she 
does not cease to lament the presumption 
which kept her back so long from the Redeem- 
er; and does she ever name the transition with- 
out emotion, in recollecting the danger to 
which it exposed her. 

The impiety and absurdity of such a practice 

; will plainly appear, when we recollect how 

diametrically it is opposed to the prescribed 

will of God, to whom alone secret things be- 



184 LETTERS TO AN 

long. We have no right to seek for superna- 
tural evidence of our condition. This is to be 
ascertained only by the heart and the life. And 
any satisfaction which can ever be obtained in 
this forbidden way, will usually be unaccom- 
panied with a single mark of grace. The 
heart will continue unaffected; and the disposi- 
tion and temper will undergo no favourable 
change. All the gratitude w 7 hich may be sup- 
posed to arise in the bosom, is the product of 
a selfish feeling; and will be disconnected with 
a love of the true character of God. The pro- 
per source of our comfort should be found in 
the fitness of the Word to our wants, and not 
in the particular state of our minds. 

A third reason why the Bible continues a 
sealed book in the hands of many, is to be found 
in the listlessness with which they turn over its 
pages. We should imagine that one who is 
deeply impressed with a sense of his danger, 
would exert all his powers to obtain the mean- 
ing of what he believes to be the will of his 
God. Such, however, is not the fact. The 
very uneasiness or distress which drove him 
to seek a remedy in the Scriptures, frequently 
diverts his attention from them. His thoughts 
are confused. Or, if they are concentrated on 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 185 

any point, it is that of his particular situation. 
It is thus he reads chapter after chapter, hardly 
knowing the nature of the subject before him: 
and when the task is, for a season, relinquish- 
ed, not a trace is left in the memory. There 
is a strong temptation to such abstraction of 
mind; not only when we resort to the Word of 
God for relief under temporal affliction — when 
the subject of our sorrow usurps the place in 
our reflections which the remedy should take 
— but even when apprehensions of danger to 
our souls have induced us to apply to the Bible. 
Against this evil I would seriously caution you. 
The consequences which result at the time are 
not all that ensue: This inattention, repeated, 
easily grows into a habit; and thus, without 
being sensible of it, the Inquirer nullifies one of 
the very means of grace. Have you never detect- 
ed yourself in this default? Have you not 
sometimes closed this life-giving volume, with- 
out being able to recollect a single perfect idea 
which it might have conveyed to your under- 
standing? 

Another reason why all expectation from the 
Sacred Record fails the Inquirer, consists in 
the impatience often attendant on his situation; 
especially where the natural temperament is 



186 LETTERS TO AH 

ardent and sanguine. I refer to the practice 
of turning eagerly and hastily from one passage 
to another, or from one part of the volume to 
another, without waiting to canvass the mean- 
ing of either. I do not mean here, as in a for- 
mer case, that the object looked for is something 
to produce a sudden and miraculous effect. The 
reader, in this instance, is rather in pursuit of 
something descriptive of his present peculiar 
feelings; and yet does not wait long enough to 
ponder on any thing, to ascertain its meetness 
to his condition. He may not, as in the case 
first mentioned, expect a wonder to be w T rought 
by an expression found at random, and made in- 
strumental of comfort to him, foreign from its 
original design, or not, as may be; but he ex- 
pects that whatever is adapted to the condition 
of his mind, will appear so at a glance. 

That some parts of the Bible are not fitted to 
meet his cares is very certain; for relief to the 
mourner, or instruction to the convicted, was 
but one of the great ends for which it was in- 
tended by its divine Author. But it is equally 
certain that no part can effect the purpose de- 
sired, ordinarily, without serious thoughts on 
the side of the reader. Surely the man who is 
credibly informed that a. certain document 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 187 

contains a clause which materially affects his 
own interest, would weigh well each clause as 
he reads it. His attention would be arrested 
by every part which is not obviously distinct 
from his own concerns. How much rather 
should the awakened sinner examine the pur- 
port of the sacred pages, with reflection and 
care! 

Others, again, miss their aim by forgetting 
the nature and character of the book, even 
while engaged in its perusal. This may be of 
serious consequence; and must necessarily re- 
tard the end they have in view. 

Never cease to remember, My Dear Sir, that 
the instruction you are receiving as you pore 
over the Bible, is directly from God himself: 
— from him who is able to make it, through his 
blessing, effectual to your salvation. It is a so- 
lemn thought, which should occur to every 
reader — that Jehovah speaks. And the more 
deeply we can impress this upon our minds, 
while we hold the volume before us, the more 
confident may we be of success in our inquiry. 
Indeed it is from a sense of this, that we should 
hope to derive the virtues of the Divine Word. 
An infidel of my acquaintance, in looking 
over the pages of the Bible attempted to keep 



188 ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 

in mind the supposition that the Creator was 
its author, merely with a design to discover the 
effect it might produce on his understanding. 
Now as it is sometimes possible for a lively fan- 
cy to produce, for a moment, the effects of truth 
itself, it was so here. Under the idea of di- 
vine authority, this reader saw something ad- 
mirably adapted to the relation which man, as 
a dependent creature, sustains towards his Crea- 
tor. Conviction of his own danger, and, sub- 
sequently, the knowledge of Jesus Christ, suc- 
ceeded what was intended to have been at first, 
an experiment on the imagination. 

You, My Dear Friend, need no proof that 
the Bible is of Divine authority. And yet it is 
very possible for you to keep this essential truth 
too far from your sight, and thus to lose the 
benefits it is adapted to convey. 

One more error worthy of notice, is that of 
looking for a meaning in the Word of God 
which it was never designed to give: an expec- 
tation of a hidden something, to be brought to 
light by the Holy Spirit, through the medium 
of the Divine language: or in other words, of 
a certain additional quality to be communicat- 
ed, by that powerful agent, to what the Inqui- 
rer is reading. — And I have sometimes known 
him to wait for this without taking any pains, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 189 

on his own part, to comprehend what he was 
perusing. An erroneous apprehension of this 
kind may be an effectual check to his success. 
" The Office of the Holy Spirit/' to use the 
words of another, " is not to make known to 
us any truths which are not already contained 
in the Bible; but to make clear to our under- 
standings the truths which are contained in it. 
He opens our understandings to understand the 
Scriptures. The Word of God is the instru- 
ment by which the Spirit worketh. He does 
not tell us any thing that is out of the record; 
but all that is within it he sends home with 
clearness and effect upon the mind. He does 
not make us wise above that which is written, 
but he makes us wise up to that which is written. 
When a telescope is directed to some distant 
landscape, it enables us to see what we could 
not otherwise have seen; but it does not ena- 
ble us to see anv thing which has not a real ex- 
istence in the prospect before us." 

As to the question, f whether in the act of 
teaching us the meaning of the Scriptures, the 
Spirit imparts the necessary information by a 
direct communication to our minds/ — let me 
answer you in the language of an elegant wri- 
ter of the present day: u A man that is born 
2 T 



190 LETTERS TO AN 

blind, if placed in the centre of the most attrac- 
tive scenery that nature ever exhibited, can see 
no objects. There are the objects; there is also 
the medium of vision; if it should please the 
Almighty to open his eyes, he will first discern 
them indistinctly, afterwards more clearly ; and 
when more accustomed to the exercise of his 
newly acquired faculty of sight, he will be able 
tojtrace their forms, to distinguish their colours, 
and to make a correct calculation of their rela- 
tive distances. He will, when his eyes are 
open, see no object which did not exist when 
he was blind; and when he does see them, it 
will be through the medium of his own eye, 
though for the capacity of vision he is indebted 
to a supernatural cause. So in reference to the 
spirit of God. He gives to us the power of spiri- 
tual discernment, but that power is exerted 
through the medium of our own judgment"* 
The spirit opened the eyes of the apostles to see 
clearly the meaning of their ascended Master's 
instructions; many of which they had forgotten; 
and of none of which they had possessed a right 
understanding before. It is in the same man- 
ner he operates in the present day. And un- 
til he do so, the Gospel will be, as it respects 

* Spirit and Manners of the Age. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 191 

our main object, a dead letter to the most gift- 
ed of us. 

Such are some of the causes of an utter fail- 
ure, in many instances, in the attempt to find 
relief in the word of God: And where either 
of these exist, such a failure should as certainly 
be expected as any effect is expected from its 
cause. It is hence that we sometimes hear the 
Awakened sinner declaring that his difficulties, 
instead of being removed, are multiplied; his 
anxiety, instead of being gratified in its de- 
mands, is baffled. This is harassing in the ex- 
treme. — But he should not have forgotten that, 
while the illumination of the Holy Spirit is ne- 
cessary to a saving understanding of the Scrip- 
tures, the reader is bound to use all the means 
of acquiring thatlight; and to avoid every thing 
that could possibly impede it. 

When I say that it is the Inquirer's duty to 
use all means of acquiring spiritual light, 1 refer 
not only to the exercise of prayer, which 
should accompany all his own exertions, but to 
the duty of making himself conversant with the 
plan, of Salvation. That God may, and some- 
times does bless his Holy Word, without clear 
and discriminating views on the subject, — es- 
pecially where there is no opportunity of ac- 



192 LETTERS TO AN 

quiring them — is very certain. But, for the 
most part, it will be found that the Divine assis- 
tance is furnished in proportion to our own ac- 
tive and sincere desires; and to our efforts to 
obtain distinct apprehensions of the truth as it 
is in Christ. Where these are wanting, the 
hope of acceptance and pardon, — even though 
obtained— with all the comfort which attends 
it, is not only liable to fluctuations, but is even 
uncertain in its tenure. Trifling changes in 
outward circumstances, or in the animal spirits, 
may bring back a despondency which the pray- 
er of faith had dissipated, unless the object of 
that faith be kept before the mind; an end 
which we can always accomplish the more 
readily as our views are more intelligent: — It 
was a good remark of an eminent Christian on 
his death-bed, that the calm and quiet of mind 
which he had so much enjoyed during life,arose, 
M not so much from a greater measure of grace 
than other Christians had, or from an immedi- 
ate witnessing of the Spirit; but because he had 
a more clear understanding of the covenant of 
grace than many others; having studied and 
preached it so many years. "* 

During a period of anxiety, when the Word 

* Brook's Cabinet, p. 113. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 193 

of God seems to afford no consolation to the In- 
quirer, there is a strong temptation to rove 
abroad in search of something to meet difficul- 
ties and feelings, which are not then met by the 
sacred Volume. And it is indeed true that 
many excellent works of pious Divines may as- 
sist him in part of his perplexities. But I have 
sometimes had reason to fear that an undue de- 
pendence on these had impeded the progress of 
the reader. I have said an 'undue dependence? 
for there is always some hazard of this, when 
the language of Holy Writ has discouraged his 
efforts to understand its meaning. Guard 
against this temptation. Remember that all, in 
these works, which could be of value in your 
own case, is derived from the Bible itself. And 
whatever blessing may rest upon a prayerful 
perusal of them, is from the fact that they are 
a species of ministration of the Word. This is 
the fountain-head, from which all else are but 
so many streams, liable to a greater or less de- 
gree of impurity, as they pass through distant 
grounds. 

And now, my friend, before I close this let- 
ter, I can not forbear expressing a fear that the 
remarks I have made may lead to an error in 
practice; and thus, by detaining you from the 



194 LETTERS TO AN 

great end in view, defeat my own purpose. 
Let me beseech you, then, not to wait for any 
given degree of knowledge before you dis- 
charge the primary duty of making an unre- 
served surrender of yourself to Christ. Clear 
and full perceptions of divine truth are indeed 
necessary to evangelical and substantial peace. 
But you know enough to understand that God 
demands your whole heart at once. While 
you withhold this, all else is a fruitless form. 
Renounce, then, yourself, and all that is of hu- 
man expectation: and while you do so, be it 
your prayer — " enlighten thou mine eyes to 
behold the wonderful things contained in thy 
Law!" 

Very truly, 

Yours, &c. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 195 



LETTER IX, 



The folly of expending time in attempting to reconcile difficult 
The duty of diligence in examining the proper application of the Truth 
— The question, "what part of the Bible shall I read ?"— Quotations- 
Application of a Parable— A personal appeal to Christ directed in Scrip- 
ture — Conclusion. 



MY DEAR SIR, 

In order to obtain a right understanding of 
the Word of God, it is by no means necessary 
that you should engage your mind in endea- 
vouring to elucidate its difficult passages, or to 
reconcile its apparent contradictions. This 
were an employment very distinct from your 
present purposes; and not unlikely to throw 
hindrances in your way. The mind of that 
man has a strong bias to skepticism, who in- 
sists on having every difficulty satisfactorily 
explained, before he will apply the sacred 
truths to himself. There is very little sin- 
cerity in his desires for spiritual peace, and 
no very deep sense of either his guilt or his 
danger. Thousands are partakers of the Hea- 



196 LETTERS TO AN 

venly blessing, who are far from being versed 
in these matters, and have very little curiosity 
about them. The convinced sinner has not 
time for such an occupation; and if he had, its 
influence is unsalutary. He whose peace is 
made with his God, might indeed employ a 
portion of his leisure in such a pursuit; but 
even then, the engagement should be second- 
ary to the study of practical and spiritual 
truths, or the plan of salvation, as unfolded in 
the Gospel. But until that great end is com- 
pleted, it is a wide departure from the line of 
duty to exercise our diligence in any thing not 
closely connected with matters of the heart. 
And you know that it is very possible to en- 
gross our attention with portions of the Bible 
which may have no tendency to furnish spi- 
ritual light, and which can in no way illus- 
trate the important question before us. True 
conviction of sin, and evangelical repentance, 
arise from another quarter. And I should en- 
tertain as much hope, — and indeed more, — in 
the attempt to convince an infidel by the sim- 
plest truths of the Gospel, than by the best 
chain of reasoning, to establish its authentici- 
ty: for even the highest success in such an 
effort may bring him very little nearer to its 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 197 

saving doctrines. I am equally sure, too, that 
the most complete success of the Inquirer, in 
his attempt to reconcile the difficult passages 
of the Bible — whatever self-complacency or 
pleasure may follow — will end in little or no 
moral good upon his mind. In the mean- 
while, this diversion of his thoughts from the 
grand object of inquiry, is attended with a 
chilling and deleterious influence on his affec- 
tions: And thus is the Sacred Book rendered 
an instrument, not of deepening his impres- 
sions, but of erasing them altogether. 

The following direction may be of some im- 
portance: — Whenever, in the course of reading 
a practical or spiritual part of the Bible, you 
discover any thing which appears to convey 
an imperfect meaning, or presents no defined 
idea to your mind, ponder it well. Do not 
suffer it to escape your recollection, without 
extracting something from it. Never discard, 
as too abstruse, what on a little reflection may 
appear rich in meaning. It is attention to such 
a rule as this, which comprises a profitable 
reading of the Word. And a single sentence 
made the subject of deep thought, and ren- 
dered part of the materials of prayer, is worth 
u 



198 LETTERS TO AN 

whole chapters of that more general attention, 
which we commonly give to other books. 

All opposition, or repugnance, which the 
Inquirer may feel to the language or ideas of 
Scripture, should constrain him to greater im- 
portunity in prayer, while it proves, more 
fully, his need of divine assistance. Depend 
upon it, there is nothing in the whole progress 
of the Awakened Sinner's experience, which 
is not adapted, if he fairly consider it, to teach 
him the evils of his unrenewed state, and the 
duty of his entire dependence on God. In- 
stead, then, of disheartening him in his pur- 
suit, all the difficulties he may find, ought, by 
demonstrating to him the necessity of a radi- 
cal change, to conduct him to that acceptable 
frame of mind, with which he can not ap- 
proach a throne of grace in vain: — But of 
this, more hereafter. 

The question which you ask — " what part 
of the Sacred Volume do you recommend to 
my particular attention?" is one which is 
very often proposed; and occurs very natu- 
rally to the mind of an Inquirer who is eager 
to reach some defined point, on which he de- 
sires to reflect with fixedness of thought. But 
it is a question not easily answered. Nor am 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 199 

I by any means sure that a particular direction 
is always adviseable. The great variety of 
cases which are presented by the tempers and 
circumstances of different persons, would ren- 
der any minute direction inexpedient. The 
best general advice which could be given, 
would perhaps, be, to become familiar with 
those portions which describe the sinfulness of 
our nature — The character of the Being with 
whom we have to do — and the way of pardon 
and reconciliation. Convinced as the Inquirer 
may be of his depravity or sin, he can not be 
too sensible of it, as the ground of his condem- 
nation. A just knowledge of the Divine cha- 
racter will deepen this impression, and give it 
a definite form. While, at the same time, a 
distinct comprehension of the way of salvation, 
as it is revealed in the Cross, is indispensable 
to produce that humble and penitent frame of 
mind, without which there can be no true sub- 
mission, and until we have attained which, all 
our cares will be unavailing. 

In regard to the natural state of man, let 
me request you to examine, and apply, with 
care, the following passages, in connexion with 
those which are parallel. — It is of little conse- 
quence that I have not disposed them in order; 



200 LETTERS TO AN 

but it is of vast importance that here, and in 
all other instances of examining divine truth, 
you lay aside every pre-conceived notion of 
your own; and exercise all the candour which 
a subject of eternal life and death demands, at 
your hands. 

"The imagination of man's heart is evil 
from his youth. Who can bring a clean thing 
out of an unclean? not one. What is man 
that he should be clean? And he which is 
born of a woman that he should be righteous? 
The Lord looked down from Heaven upon the 
children of men, to see if there were any that 
did understand and seek God. They are all 
gone aside, they are altogether become filthy; 
there is none that doeth good, no, not one. 
Corrupt are they, and have done abominable 
iniquity. This is an evil among all things that 
are done under the sun, that there is one event 
unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men 
is full of evil, and madness is in their heart 
while they live, and after that they go to the 
dead. Behold 1 was shapen in iniquity, and 
in sin did my mother conceive me. For there 
is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good 
and sinneth not. Because sentence against an 
evil work is not executed speedily, therefore 






ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 201 

the heart of the sons of men is fully set in 
them to do evil. Wherefore as by one man 
sin entered into the world, and death by sin, 
and so death passed upon all men, for that all 
have sinned. Among whom also we all had 
our conversation in times past, in the lust of 
our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and 
of the mind; and were by nature the children 
of wrath even as others. The whole world 
lieth in wickedness. The world hateth me, 
because I testify of it that the works of it are 
evil. The carnal mind is enmity against God; 
for it is not subject to the law of God, neither 
indeed can be. The natural man receiveth 
not the things of the Spirit of God: for they 
are foolishness unto him: neither can he know 
them, because they are spiritually discerned."* 
On the fulness of pardon through the Re- 
deemer, examine the following: " He was 
wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised 
for our iniquities: the chastisement of our 
peace was upon him; and with his stripes we 
are healed. All we like sheep, have gone 
astray: we have turned every one to his own 

" Gen. viii. 21. Job, xiv. 4. xv. 14—16. Ps. xiv. 1—3. liii. 1—3. Ec- 
cles. ix. 3. Ps. li. 5. Eccles. vii. 20 viii. 11. Rom. i. 21—23—27-29. 
v. 8, 10, 12. Eph. ii. 1-3. 1 John, v. 19. John, vii. 7. Rom. viii. 7. 1 
Corin. ii. 14. Eph. iv. 17, 18. 
U2 



202 LETTERS TO AN 

way; and the Lord hath laid on him the ini- 
quity of us all. In that day there shall be a 
fountain opened to the house of David, and to 
the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for 
uncleanness. Be it known unto you, there- 
fore, men and brethren, that through this man 
is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins. 
In whom we have redemption through his 
blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the 
riches of his grace, who gave himself for our 
sins, that he might deliver us from this present 
evil world, according to the will of God and 
our Father. This is a faithful saying, and 
worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ 
came into the world to save sinners. For I 
delivered unto you, first of all, that which 1 
also received, how that Christ died for our 
sins according to the Scriptures. So Christ 
was once offered to bear the sins of many; 
and unto them that look for him shall he ap- 
pear the second time. For, by one offering, 
he hath perfected forever them that are sancti- 
fied. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and 
just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us 
from all unrighteousness: And ye know that 
he was manifested to take away our sins. 
Who his own self bare our sins in his own 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 203 

body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins 
should live unto righteousness."* 

And yet that all this may be of no avail 
to us without divine aid, is fully affirmed: 
"Man's goings are of the Lord; how can a 
man then understand his own way. Can the 
Ethiopian change his skin or the Leopard his 
spots? then may ye also do good that are ac- 
customed to do evil. All things are delivered 
unto me of my Father: and no man knoweth 
the Son but the Father; neither knoweth any 
man the Father save the Son, and he to whom- 
soever the Son will reveal him. A man can 
receive nothing except it be given him from 
Heaven. No man can come unto me except 
the Father, which hath sent me, draw him. 
Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think 
any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency 
is of God. For by grace are ye saved through 
faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift 
of God. t 

But that God willeth the salvation of the 
sinner, and tendereth his own blessing to the 
sincere penitent, is obvious from the follow- 

• Is. liii. 5, 6. Zech. xiii. 1. Acts, xiii. 38. Eph. i. 7. Gal. i. 4. 1 
Tim. i. 15. 1 Conn. xv. 3. Heb. i. 3. ix. 23. x. 14. 1 John, i. 7—9. iii. 5. 
IPet.ii. 24. 

1 Prov. xx. 24. Jer. xiii. 23. Matt. xi. 27. John, iii. 27. vi. 44, 65. 
John, xv. 4, 5. viii. 43. 2 Cor. iii. 5. Eph. ii. 8. 



204 LETTERS TO AN 

ing: " Turn ye at my reproof; behold I will 
pour out my spirit upon you, I will make 
known my words unto you. I have not 
spoken in secret > in a dark place of the earth: 
1 said not unto the seed of Jacob, seek ye me 
in vain. Look unto me and be ye saved, all 
the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there 
is none else. Incline your ear and come unto 
me; hear and your soul shall live. Seek ye 
the Lord while he may be found; call ye 
upon him while he is near. Let the wicked 
forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his 
thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, 
and he will have mercy upon him: and to our 
God, for he will abundantly pardon. As I 
live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the 
death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn 
from his way and live, turn ye, turn ye, from 
your evil ways; for why will ye die? For 1 
have no pleasure in the death of him that 
dieth, saith the Lord God. Wherefore turn 
yourselves, and live ye. Oh Israel thou hast 
destroyed thyself, but in me is thy help. 
Turn ye to the strong hold, ye prisoners of 
hope: even to-day do I declare that I will 
render double unto thee. Blessed are they 
which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 205 

for they shall be filled. I am not come to call 
the righteous, but sinners, to repentance. Come 
unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden 
and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon 
you, and learn of me: for I am meek and lowly 
in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. 
For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. 
For the Son of Man is come to seek and to 
save that which was lost. If any man thirst, 
let him come unto me and drink. For this is 
good and acceptable in the sight of God our 
Saviour, who will have all men to be saved, 
and to come unto the knowledge of the truth. 
Behold 1 stand at the door and knock: If any 
man hear my voice, and open the door, I will 
come in to him, and will sup with him, and he 
with me. I will give unto him that is athirst 
of the fountain of the water of life freely. And 
the Spirit and the Bride say, come, and let him 
that heareth say, come, and let him that is 
athirst, come: and whosoever will, let him 
take the water of life freely."* 

That God charges their failure upon sinner's 
themselves, is the current testimony of Scrip- 

* Prov. i. 23, Is. xlv. 19, 22. Iv. 1—3, 6, 7. Ez. xxxiii. 11, xviii. 32. 
Hos. xiii. 9. Zech. ix. 12. Matt. v. 6. ix. 12, 13. xi. 23, 30. Luke, 
xix. 10. John, vii. 37, 38, 1 Tim, i. 16. ii. 3, 4. Rev. iii. 18, 20. xxi. 6, 
xxii. 17. 



206 LETTERS TO AN 

ture: "Repent and turn yourselves from all 
your transgressions; so iniquity shall not be 
your ruin. Cast away from you all your trans- 
gressions, whereby ye have transgressed, and 
make you a new heart and a new spirit: for 
why will ye die? And he sent forth his ser- 
vants to call them that were bidden to the 
wedding: and they would not come. And 
this is the condemnation, that light is come 
into the world, and men loved darkness rather 
than light, because their deeds were evil."* 

To all this, and the parallel passages, let me 
add the suggestion, that it would be well to 
study, attentively, each of the particulars in the 
Parable of the Prodigal Son: I have already had 
occasion to advert to this, by w T ay of illustra- 
tion. But it furnishes so rich and profitable a 
subject for serious thought — such prominent 
points of self-examination, — and so fine an in- 
sight into the relative attitudes of the penitent 
and his God, that I can not omit recommend- 
ing it to your particular notice: 

The subject of the story was a wanderer far 
from his Father. He was destitute of every 
thing that could satisfy the cravings of an im- 

* Ezekiel, xviii. 30, 31. Matt. xxii. 3. xxiii. 37. John, iil. 19. viii. 
45,46. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 207 

mortal spirit. What a lively description of the 
natural man! His efforts to obtain food were 
vain. And how fruitless are the best devices 
to satisfy the longings of the soul! " No man 
gave unto him." Who can relieve him? 
All trust in an arm of flesh must end in disap- 
pointment. Neither his own works, nor sym- 
pathy, nor pity, is found to avail him. " He 
came to himself." What a discovery he 
made of his forlorn condition! What a sensa- 
tion of solitariness and abandonment, is that 
which now occupies the bosom of the depen- 
dent creature! He is alone. And help and 
hope are far from him. There is not within 
the compass of language a more emphatic sen- 
tence than this — " He came to himself." 
What a host of reflections does it bring to the 
mind! The past, the present, and even the 
future — how they unite in carrying their 
gatherings of sorrow together! And what a 
flood of light do they pour into the dark 
chambers of that self to which he came! Here 
is reason, most abundant, for all that loathing 
of his condition which ensues in the mind of 
the sinner, under conviction of sin. And then 
the sense of shame in remaining from his fa- 
ther's house — his personal ingratitude — his 



208 LETTERS TO AN 

abuse of mercies — his base prostitution of the 
means of grace — how admirably are all these 
reflections adapted to sink him in the dust! It 
is in this state of distress that he recalls to 
mind the ability of his neglected parent to re- 
lieve him; — and he sees the fitness of the 
cheering invitations of the Gospel to his own 
condition. Instead of being exalted by the 
thought that all may yet be well with him, or 
elated in dwelling on the tender kindness of 
his parent, the very thought of parental favour 
sinks him lower — the legitimate effect, on a 
generous mind, of kindness from the injured 
party. And in this humility he would be fed 
as a servant — he would take the lowest condi- 
tion — he aspires to nothing of self-exaltation. 
An active resolution succeeds these reflections 
— "/ will arise, and go to my father." 
He does not lie still and bemoan his condition. 
He does not wait for future facilities. A sense 
of starvation will not permit the sufferer to 
speculate on frivolous matters. Nor does he 
inquire into any of the details which are unes- 
sential to his purpose. u He arose" " Jl 
great way off" he was seen — met — greeted 
- — and embraced. There is something affect- 
ing, too, in the simple statement of the inter 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 20§ 

view. To the humble, and heart-felt confes- 
sion of the Son, the Father gives no other an- 
swer than that of an order to clothe the tattered 
youth witha garment of honour — and to pre- 
pare a festival of rejoicing for his famishing 
child. And then how the feelings of the par- 
ties act on each other! The sense of shame 
and guilt, and the humility of the Son, awaken 
the piety of a compassionate parent; and the 
tenderness of the Father increases the self-con- 
demnation of his offspring. Was ever descrip- 
tion more true to nature ? 

One consideration we should never forget; 
for a recollection of it will prevent that con- 
fusion respecting the use of the promises, 
which is so very general: I mean that every 
promise, or invitation, is given through the 
Saviour: not merely that all salvation is the 
purchase of his blood, but that in the view of 
the promises themselves our eye is to be di- 
rected to him; and our application to be made 
personally to himself. His own language is — 
" come unto me all ye that labour and are 
heavy laden, and /will give you rest." " Him 
that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." 

After all, My Dear Sir, it is in comparing 
the words of Scripture with our own condi- 



210 LETTERS TO AN 

tion, that we use the proper means of rendering 
it of avail to ourselves. It is in the unison of 
the Divine language with our own state of 
mind, that any positive effect is produced upon 
us, As a general rule, therefore, the proper 
method of studying the Word of God implies 
a self-examination, at the same time; without 
which, whatever the Holy Spirit is able to ef- 
fect, independent of direct means, we ought 
not to look for benefit to ourselves. 

And, now, while I commend you to the 
good Word of God, and to a prayerful exami- 
nation of its suitableness to your own case, may 
it indeed dwell in you richly in all wisdom. 
May its hallowed truths be carried home, with 
power to your heart, and bring to light within 
you, the day spring from on high! 

Yours very truly. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 211 



LETTER X. 

On right desires — The Young Man in the Gospel— A complaint of the In- 
quirer—One of the marks of right desires — A misinterpretation of Ro- 
mans, ix. 3— Right desires not a mere fear of Hell — The breathings of 
an awakened sinner — Reformation of life connected with sincerity — 
And the spirit of forgiveness on our own part — Right desires not fitful — 
Trials — Advice. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

There is no inconsistency in saying that 
the sinner is directed to come to Christ with- 
out delay, and yet that if his desires be of an 
unsuitable character, all application will be 
vain. The invitations of the Gospel extend to 
all, whether they are accepted or not. And 
the command unto all men is, to repent, and to 
close with the terms of salvation. Even he 
whose care and labour are expended in search 
of earthly happiness, is not excluded from that 
general invitation. But then the tender of 
pardon and grace, as its language always clear- 
ly implies, requires the relinquishment of one 
pursuit, and the sincere engagement in another. 
It declares the inadequacy of worldly plea- 
sures to the demands of the soul; and proposes 
a higher source of happiness. Now the only 
question is, whether the object held out by the 



212 XETTERS TO AN 

Gospel meet the consent and wish of the sin- 
ner. If it do so, no impediment, unless it be 
one of error in views, can remain in the way. 

This is the sum of the whole matter before 
us. It is spiritual life and peace which are of- 
fered. And if they be acceptable to the sin- 
ner, why then all is well. But where the taste 
and affections cling to the world — or where an 
attempt is made to compromise between God 
and Mammon, — the object desired is not the 
peace of the Redeemer, or the enjoyment of 
spirital life, but something of a sensual nature. 

Such was the instance of the Young Man in 
tbe Gospel. He had heard of the tender of 
salvation through Jesus Christ, and he came 
eagerly to inquire, " what shall I do?" From 
childhood he had paid deference to the moral 
law; and the command to an external obedience 
here seemed no way inconsistent with a spirit 
of worldliness. But when he ascertained that 
the means of indulging in such a spirit were to 
be relinquished on the very entrance into a 
heavenly life, he sorrowed at the sight of the 
unwelcome alternative, and went away more 
hopeless than he came. He certainly desired 
salvation. But his heart was set upon the 
world. Communion with God or the spiritual 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 213 

pleasures of the Christian were not "in all his 
thoughts." The sacrifice which he was re- 
quired to make would have been of no moment 
to one whose soul panted for the enjoyment of 
a holy intercourse with God; for a common de- 
sire in behalf of the two things is contradictory 
in its nature. It is plain, then, that he under- 
stood nothing of the character of the object 
about which he was inquiring. Eternal life 
must begin with spiritual dispositions; and for 
these he had no wish. 

Now let me apply this case: the man who 
seeks for salvation may have an eye only to 
the future blessedness of the Christian, if so, 
he does not distinctly see what it is he pro- 
fesses to be seeking; or else he would discover 
within himself a repugnance to the very boon 
he solicits. He may be willing, on delibera- 
tion, to sacrifice his property rather than lose 
his soul; and he would certainly be so to save 
his life. But the pleasures of divine grace are 
not attractive to his moral appetite. Nor has 
he any present sincere wish that they should 
be so. 

There is not a more common complaint on 
the part of a certain class of awakened sinners, 

than the following: " My failure, after all 

V2 



214 LETTERS TO AN 

my efforts to obtain peace with Christy 
leads me to fear that my desires are, in 
some respects, spurious — wrong in their 
character ', — and therefore inconsistent with 
the will of God." And in answer to this, I 
have more than once known a still greater con- 
fusion created by metaphysical distinctions re- 
lative to the operations of the will; or by di- 
rections which occupy the attention with need- 
less subleties. Erroneous or unacceptable de- 
sires are only inclinations towards something 
else than the grace of God. And such is, more 
or less, the substance of all our mistakes on 
this subject. 

JI successful desire will be attended with 
a willingness to relinquish all things, in 
order to attain the great end in view. At 
the present day, we are not likely to be re- 
quired to give up our whole property, or to 
forfeit our reputation, as a test of our sincerity. 
But we shall always be required to lend the 
whole weight of influence of both, to the cause 
of the Redeemer. If it be not commanded that 
we abandon the ordinary comforts or enjoy- 
ments of life, it is enjoined that we enter into 
none of those which are inconsistent with a 
demeanour of piety, or which could cool our 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 215 

affections, or unfit us for devotional duties; 
Or, in other words, that whatever will inter- 
fere with attainments in grace, or holiness, 
should be relinquished. In this requisition 
there is nothing but what is consistent with 
our own happiness, and with the very end we 
profess to have in view. 

I am aware that far-stretched suppositions 
have sometimes been formed on this subject as 
tests of the disinterestedness and submission of 
the Inquirer. Some have affirmed, that in or- 
der to obtain the divine favour we should so 
completely surrender our hearts and will to 
God, and so disinterestedly refer to his honour, 
as to be willing, if it would promote his glory, 
to endure the loss of the soul. This extrava- 
gant notion is not founded on mistaken ideas of 
love to God alone: but has been supported by 
a misinterpretation of the passage you have quot- 
ed, in which the Apostle is supposed to prof- 
fer the relinquishment of his own salvation, for 
the greater glory to God in the salvation of 
many.* But I see nothing in this passage to 
countenance such an idea. The following pa- 
raphrase, by a judicious expounder of Scrip- 
ture, comes much nearer to the meaning of Su 

* Rom. ix. 3. 



216 LETTERS TO AN 

Paul: " For methinks I could even wish that 
as Christ subjected himself to the curse, that 
he might deliver us from it, so I myself like- 
wise were made anathema after the example of 
Christ; like him exposed to all the execrations 
of an enraged people, and even to the infamous 
and accursed death of crucifixion itself, for the 
sake of my brethren and kinsmen according to 
the flesh, that they might thereby be delivered 
from the guilt they have brought upon their 
own heads. "* The Apostle could never have 
intended to say that he was willing to lie under 
the eternal wrath of God for any consideration 
of possible good that might accrue from the 
doom. Such a supposition implies a palpable 
contradiction: it declares that so great was his 
love of God, that, if it would promote his hon- 
our, he was willing to be doomed to hate him 
for ever. 

We have no rightto indulge in such paradoxi- 
cal fancies. And it is visionary to test our sin- 
cerity by questions which the Scriptures have 
never presented to our notice. Moreover, to 
require evidence from ourselves of the strongest 
love to our Creator, as a prelude to giving our- 
selves up to him, is to require that we become 

* Dotldnd^e, in loco. 



A2TXI0TJS INQUIRER. 217 

sincere Christians — or that we be already 
what it is supposed we are seeking to be. 

Besides, we may deceive ourselves by a very 
natural error here: God demands that we fore- 
go all that is earthly, or that we render all 
things subservient to our spiritual interest. In 
view of this requirement, and under an affect- 
ing sense of his danger, the awakened sinner 
may easily say — " I would give up all for 
Christ" — while, at the same time, he may be 
insensible that it is a legal tender he is making 
— a barter of one thing for another: and con- 
nected with this, he may feel as if he had a 
right to the gift that he asks. The effort which 
is visible in such an offer, renders it perfectly 
plain that pardon eould avail him very little; 
for his heart is still ^?et on the things he profes- 
ses to relinquish. Now, although the invita- 
tions of the Gospel are so universal, the promi- 
ses of God are made only in behalf of a certain 
state of mind, to which their fitness is express- 
ed by their own terms: the hungry, the thirsty, 
the poor in spirit, &c. And in order to ascer- 
tain our sincerity, it is hence our questions 
should arise, respecting the nature of our de- 
sires. 



218 LETTERS TO AN 

A mere wish to escape the sufferings of Hell 
may make up but a small part of the desires of 
the true penitent: and although there may be 
always a variety of degrees of such feeling in 
different cases; 1 have sometimes known of 
those to whom it hardly occurred as a percepti- 
ble part of their solicitude. The Scriptural de- 
scriptions of Hell are well suited to alarm. They 
do so by an appeal to our natural desire of self- 
preservation. But then the directions to fly 
from the wrath to come are only a use of the 
Law to lead us to Christ. While they fix our 
attention on the penalty of neglect, on the one 
hand, they may induce us on the other, to ex- 
amine the way of salvation, — a comparison of 
w T hich with our true condition as it is, should 
impress us with a sense of our wants. " Devils 
believe and tremble." They believe in the 
display of that eternal justice of which they are 
victims. The dying impenitent sinner, too, 
would willingly fly from the wrath to come. 
But neither of these has an inclination to holi- 
ness. 

It is thus with the spurious desires of many, 
who have no wish for present purity; or none 
for its own sake. But who, on the contrary, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 219 

feel a willingness for spirituality only as the less 
of two evils. 

Further: True desires may be connected 
with no remarkably clear views of the loveliness 
of grace. I will suppose the Inquirer to utter 
the breathings of his heart in such language as 
the following: " I see, in some measure, not 
only the danger, but the emptiness of a worldly 
portion. 1 have not tasted of the excellency of 
a divine life, but I can form some vague idea of 
its value, and its suitableness to a state of glory. 
I can discover nothing in myself that promises 
hope, but every thing that encourages despair. 
I can exclaim, with Peter, Ho whom shall I go, 
thou hast the words of eternal life. ? Yet 1 am 
sensible that I do not love God — would that I 
did! How contemptible is every thing com- 
pared with this love !" 

And can you say this? And do you earnest- 
ly wish to know the whole truth as it is? And 
in all this have you said — " I desire to desire 
aright" — " I believe, help my unbelief?" 

Sincerity as was before intimated, is insepa- 
rable, from an effort on our own part, to reform 
our disposition and life. Whatever temper is 
opposed to a holy life — whatever unhallowed 
practice — whether great or little, — will be free- 



220 



LETTERS TO AN 



]y relinquished The right eye is to be pluck* 
ed out, or the right hand is to be cut off, and 
the executioners of the sentence are to be our- 
selves. We are not to wait, in the hope that 
another and more gentle hand will relieve us 
without an exertion on our own part. 

There is one thing here which is too fre- 
quently overlooked: The feelings of preju- 
dice which we have entertained against any 
one, even with a belief in their justice — or a 
retaliatory disposition under a sense of wrong 
received, — must be extinguished. All possi- 
ble pains must be taken to destroy it. Before 
we bring our gift to the altar, we are not only to 
repair wrongs committed by ourselves* but we 
are to foster a conciliatory temper. This is a 
hint of far more extensive application than may 
be generally imagined. I have seen those 
whose sense of injury received, or whose per- 
sonal wound of pride — kept open as it was 
by embittered recollect ions, — detained them y 
while they knew it not, from the great object 
of their pursuit. They could express a willing- 
ness to Jorgive but not to forget, while they 
did not reflect that the temper which suggest- 
ed this disposition, was that of a haughty bear- 
ing — utterly unsuited to the posture of a sup- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 221 

pliant for mercy. " Forgive as / forgive" is 
the tenour of acceptable prayer. But this peti- 
tion indicates not only a desire that our sins 
may not be set to our account, but that accord- 
ing to the divine blessing, they may be " cov- 
ered over" — remembered no more. Hew suita- 
ble to the state of some Inquirers is the conside- 
ration of this part of the Lord's prayer! How 
fitting to a mind that would be prepared to love 
Him, whose pardon is sought, by a meekness 
and gentleness of disposition. And how well 
is it adapted to develope traits of a perverse 
temper, where they have taken their secret 
seat! 

Acceptable desires will possess a permanency 
of character. It is permanency which most dis- 
tinguishes principle. Fitful wishes can pro- 
duce no real good, and they designate an im- 
portant defeat somewhere. I do not mean that 
the strength or intensity of desire should con- 
tinue exactly the same in any one. This is 
hardly to be expected. But the prevalent lean- 
ing of the mind will be to the grand concern 
before him. His thoughts may be diverted 
from it by transient occurrences; but they will 
then still sustain an unfixed character, like the 
shaken magnetic needle, until they are suffered 



222 LETTERS TO AN 

to return to the direction in which alone they 
can rest. It is this permanency which gives 
the Inquirer an opportunity of turning every 
thing to account, in the ordinary occurrences 
of life. His bias of thought enables him to de- 
rive some incentive to perseverance from eve- 
ry thing with which he is concerned; while it 
will assist him to gather from the same, a deep- 
er insight into his own natural character. 

I have tried to impress upon your mind, on 
a former occasion, that the whole difficulty on 
the part of the sinner may be resolved into his 
unwillingness to take God upon his own terms. 
— And it is not difficult to prove, that all the in- 
terval between first impressions, and the peace 
which flows from a reconciliation with Christ, 
is occupied in a manner which clearly testifies 
to the truth of this position. And is it not a 
melancholy fact that all this time is occupied 
in controversy with God? " Whosoever will, 
let him come," is the language of Holy Writ: 
And the reason why the Word of God does not 
take up the different trials of the sinner, and 
present to our notice the minute experience of 
distinct cases — which you seem to think so ne- 
cessary — is, that as all obstructions are refer- 
able to some fault in the sinner himself, they 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 223 

may be seen in the broad statement of his own 
reluctance to be saved, or in that of the deceit- 
fulness and treachery of the heart. Of the dan- 
ger accruing from these, he is warned as dis- 
tinctly as possible. It would hardly be impor- 
tant, then, to extend these details. Whenever 
the experience of a change in the heart of the 
sinner is marked and distinct, he is usually able 
to date it from the time in which he felt able 
to relinquish all hold on himself or the world. 
And it is then he can most clearly discover 
that all his previous detention from hope con- 
sisted in a defect here. 

1 must again entreat you to think no more of 
the many trials which seem to accompany all 
your exertions. You ought to be able to ascer- 
tain their true meaning; and to see in them an 
additional reason for an immediate and unquali- 
fied surrender to Jesus Christ. And then you 
will observe that they have been over-ruled as 
instruments of conferring on you a greater 
knowledge of yourself and God. 

The idea that so many evil thoughts come 
into your mind, is indeed painful. But these 
do not necessarily prove your desires to be 
false and unacceptable. The best of Christians 
have reasons to mourn over this. And you are 



224 LETTERS TO AN 

to discriminate between tempting thoughts to 
which your inclination assents, and those 
which arise in opposition to your will, and 
which you prayerfully endeavour to repress. 
Should you ever have reason to indulge the 
hope of the Christian, you will not cease to la- 
ment your depravity. And now, while the 
great issue is pending, you are not to expect 
that Satan will relinquish his hold, without a 
vigorous eflbrt to retain you. The rejoicing 
of Heaven over a renewed soul is answered by 
the malignant groans of Hell at the loss of a 
victim. Reply to every discouraging sugges- 
tion of the adversary by the Word of God. So 
did the redeemer himself. And whenever 
those discouragements are suggested by the 
Scriptures, recollect that it is by detached and 
mutilated sentences. It was so, too, in the 
temptation of Christ* Abide by his example 
in every such trial. 

I will conclude this letter by remarking that 
a serious Inquirer, who was much tried by evil 

* In this instance, the quotation of Satan — " He shall give his Angels 
charge concerning thee," is imperfect. It wants the adjunct, — "In all 
thy ways :" that is, in the ways of one " dwelling in the secret place of 
the Most High." He shall indeed be kept " in all his ways"— for these im- 
ply a cordial obedience to the will of Jehovah : departing from which, with 
any hope of safety, would be tempting God. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 225 

thoughts, once told me that he never failed in 
his efforts to discard them, when he carefully- 
pondered over the fifty first Psalm. There is, 
Indeed, much in it to occupy your reflections, 
and to present as subjects of prayer. 
Farewell, 

Yours, as ever, &c 






LETTER XL 

Difficulties in prayer — Causes — Mistake respecting the nature of pra\er— 
Confusion in the mind of the Inquirer — False anticipations in prayer 
— Perplexity from our ignorance of the person addressed — Directions in 
prayer — The duty of describing personal trials — Habit of attention— Re- 
medy for wandering thoughts— Application of special promises— Scrip- 
tural examples — Seasons for Prayer — Ejaculatory desires— Forms — 
Does God " ever withhold his Grace, for a season, to try the sinner V 
— Answered. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

You are right when you say, that "no 
class of difficulties seems more serious to the 
Inquirer than those relating to the duty of 
prayer." Easy as it may have appeared, for- 
merly, to offer a petition to the throne of grace, 
his disappointment is frequently as complete as 
that which he experiences in reading the Scrip- 
tures, The discovery which he may make ia 
w2 



226 LETTERS TO AN 

the first attempt to pray, is mortifying and dis- 
tressing: and it ought to be humbling, too. 
He sees that the utterance of a form of words, 
and the posture of supplication, on which he 
would have once depended, may be a very dif- 
ferent thing from that exercise of heart which 
is carried on near the mercy-seat. He looks 
back with astonishment, to those unmeaning 
acts of outward devotion, vrith which he had 
once satisfied his conscience, and for which he 
expected, in return, the favour of his God. He 
sees that there was a something wanting of 
which he had not thought; and which he now 
labours to obtain. Perhaps there is no dis- 
covery more striking to the mind of the awak- 
ened sinner than this. And certainly none 
more alarming to his fears. And all the gene- 
ral directions which he receives on the subject, 
appear either inapplicable to his own case, or 
wholly impracticable for him. In a strait of 
this kind, advice is often thrown away, al- 
though given by the lips of prudence and 
piety. All representations of divine mercy 
are ineffectual. To others, he conceives, they 
may be suitable; but not to himself. And to 
every thing of the kind, he opposes the palpa- 
ble evidence of his utter incompetency to ex* 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 227 

press any thing but empty sounds, which reach 
no further than the atmosphere above him. 
Let us endeavour to account for this: 

One of the first causes which occur to us, is 
that of a mistake respecting the nature of 
prayer. So confident was he in the attribute 
of mercy, that he believed any application 
which might be made, infallibly successful. 
To the bare expressions of prayer he had at- 
tributed a sovereign influence; without any 
reference to the state of the heart of the peti- 
tioner, or to a sense of his personal wants. He 
makes the experiment in the first hour of his 
alarm. And he ends it, as might have been 
expected, with a sensation of disappointment. 
Now, the whole reason of this failure may be 
summed up in a single word- — ignorance: 
Ignorance of what he was doing — of the char- 
acter of his God — or of the nature of the ob- 
ject desired. Had this man sat down for a mo- 
ment, and reflected on these things, be assured, 
the tenour of his prayer would have been very 
different from what it was. Instead of asking 
for an undefined something — instead of looking 
for what he did not understand, he would have 
seen the necewssity of praying — "enlighten 
thou mine eyes!" He might have seen the 



228 LETTERS TO AN 

importance of giving himself up, at once to his 
God — as awfully ignorant as well as helpless. 
And he would have seen, too, the duty of ap- 
proaching the great Arbiter of his fate, with a 
very different idea of his holy character. 

Never let us, My Dear Sir, venture on the 
solemn act of addressing Deity, without paus- 
ing to inquire of ourselves, what we are about 
to do. Reflection and self-examination should 
always precede the exercise of prayer: not on 
our own account alone, but likewise on that of 
Him who demands the homage of both the un- 
derstanding and the heart. 

Another cause of failure consists in that con- 
fusion attendant on the anxiety of the awaken- 
ed sinner. The painful agitation which ac- 
companies the conflict of the passions at this 
time, often indisposes the mind to any thing 
direct. This is a natural effect of powerful or 
unexpected grief, in even temporal circum- 
stances; and I have already adverted to it, in a 
former Letter. The feelings may so com- 
pletely overcome the judgment as to prevent 
any proper application of the faculty of 
thought. In this state of distress we hear 
him exclaim — * Oh 1 can not pray!" He 
makes the effort again and again \ but only to 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 229 

relinquish it as hopeless, after each instance of 
trial. 

This is sometimes an awful condition of 
mind. The moral darkness within, which the 
sufferer vainly attempts to dissipate, is as it 
were in contrast with the light of the natural 
world around him, and seems to tell fearfully 
to his soul. The tumult in his bosom that 
breaks out into the loud sigh, or the heaving 
and reluctant groan, that interrupts the still- 
ness of his place of retirement — and the silence 
which succeeds it, and seems to pervade the 
universe of his being, as if to intimate a nega- 
tive to any hopes of relief — are all portentous 
to an alarmed imagination. An undefined but 
horrible sensation of vacancy attends the ex- 
clamation — "1 am lost!" Attempts to force 
the way through this darkness and despair, — 
half frantic and impulsive as they are — serve 
only to render the sense of wretchedness more 
complete, and the conviction of hopelessness 
more decided. This case is not quite an ex- 
treme one. And different degrees of approach 
to it you have often noticed in biographical 
sketches. The great perplexity here consists 
in the inability to give vent to the pent-up 
feeling- 



230 LETTERS TO AN 

u If T could only pray — If I could give ut- 
terance to thought — or if I could be sensible 
that my broken cry is heard — either of these 
would relieve me of at least part of the weight 
which I am doomed to sustain!" Here the 
spirit is wounded by an unseen hand, and yet 
knows not where nor how. The exclamation 
— "help, Lord, or I perish!" is made with 
entire distrust. Consideration or reflection 
are afar off; or they have no certain object. 

Now, even in this case, we should direct the 
Inquirer to prayer. But it would be with the 
same advice given in the last instance — let him 
think what he is to pray for. Let him remem- 
ber that the mere burst of passion is, not un- 
frequently, the indulgence of a selfish feeling, 
encouraged to excite compassion or sympathy; 
and exceedingly apt to produce that sensation 
of self-complacency, which is not easily ac- 
counted for, but which hides or palliates, the 
deformity of guilt: and that while he may be 
insensible of the effect on himself. 

God, My Dear Sir, is not the author of con- 
fusion. And we are not to attribute such effects 
as these to him; and then to ask his relief with- 
out knowing what we require. Still, if we 
are making every effort to understand our own 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 231 

situation; and find them all ineffectual, we may- 
take our very cares on this subject to the 
Mercy Seat: and in the language of one of old, 
have reason to say — "I am full of confusion, 
therefore see thou mine affliction." 

It is not necessary, however, to suppose so 
great a chaos of mind as this confusion implies, 
in order to insure the same failure. There 
may be conviction of sin, and sense of want; 
some vague notion of a distant Saviour; and 
yet the sensation, — if I may so express myself, 
— of a void space, wherever the thoughts roam 
in search of a resting place. And this may be, 
sometimes, the experience of the Christian 
himself, when some secret sin, or some lurking 
habit of evil, has insensibly removed his peace, 
and created a solitude of feeling, and a dejection 
of spirit. And when, until the latent cause is 
brought to view, he roams abroad, like the 
dove of Noah, seeking in vain for an element 
to which he had been accustomed, or for a 
place of repose which he had formerly known. 
And what energy of meaning — what full ut- 
terance of feeling is that which he conveys in 
the words of the Patriarch — " Oh, that 1 knew 
where I might find him! that 1 might come 
even to his seat! I would order my cause be- 



232 LETTERS TO AN 

fore him, .and fill my mouth with arguments. 
I would know the words which he would an- 
swer me, and understand what he would say 
unto me!"* 

Another cause of failure consists in a false 
anticipation of the kind of answer to be 
given by the hearer of prayer. The trans- 
port of joy — the delightful feeling of a holy 
confidence, — the assurance of pardon — the 
plain proof of heaventy communion — or the 
sudden removal of anxiety — these, or some of 
them, are generally the objects of sanguine ex- 
pectation with an ardent mind. And even he 
who is near to the kingdom of Heaven may de- 
tain himself from all he is seeking, while he 
perversely insists on certain results in certain 
prescribed forms. Now, the answer to prayer 
may be of a very different character. An ex- 
act compliance with our wishes may be incon- 
sistent with our good. Paul's ihrice-told peti- 
tion obtained an answer essentially different 
from his expectations. But then that answer 
subserved an equally good purpose with the 
one he had sought. And thus it will often be. 
Instead of conscious peace and pardon a deeper 
sense of sin may ensue in the bosom of the pe- 

* Job, xxiii. 3,4,5, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 233 

nitent. Instead of participation in the plea- 
sures of a communion with God, the only evi- 
dence of acceptance may be in those fervent 
aspirations of soul which may indicate a 
change unknown to himself. 

I admit with you that one who has never 
hitherto exercised any earnestness in the act of 
prayer, and who proceeds to that duty with 
seriousness for the first time, may feel at a loss 
respecting the personal object of his address. 
Accustomed to things of sense as he has been, 
he may find a difficulty in addressing a Being 
spirilual and invisible; of whom he attempts in 
vain to form some idea, while he conceives 
that a just conception of him, as a person, is 
indispensable to a right and fixed direction of 
of the mind. And it is not uncommon to call 
in the aid of imagination, in order to figure the 
very appearance of Him to whom the prayer 
is to be preferred. And the flitting and vary- 
ing representation which this faculty presents, 
increases the disorder which already reigns 
within the soul. Nor would it be extraordi- 
nary, in such a dilemma, if we find ourselves 
engaged in the double exertion of sustaining 
the imagination in its work, and canvassing 

our wants and desires, at the same time. I have 
x 



234 LETTERS TO AN 

sometimes heard the Inquirer, while unaffected- 
ly distressed, asking, " in what form he is to 
conceive of God, and how he is to bring with- 
in the range of his mental vision, the Being 
whom he wishes to address:" and yet the com- 
plaint is not one, for the most part, which is 
openly made. It more usually belongs to the 
secret experience of the Inquirer. 

The difficulty here arises entirely from the 
state of the petitioner's mind. If the sense of 
his wants were less vague, and if the specific 
design of his prayer were rendered distinct by 
a particular knowledge of them, he would see 
no reason for this complaint. It is not any de- 
fined appearance of his Maker that he should 
call to his aid — nor are we at liberty to indulge 
in such fantasies — but it is a consciousness of 
the unhallowed condition of our hearts, and 



their absolute necessities, which can form a 
prayer of faith and feeling. 

That sense of distance, too, between him- 
self and his Creator, of which the Inquirer so 
often speaks, is to be removed by a better 
knowledge of his own heart. It is this alone, 
bitter and painful as it may be, which will pro- 
duce the opposite sensation of the nearness of 
Deity to us. You observe an illustration of 






ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 235 

this remark in any instance of strong remorse, 
in which the sufferer makes a very different 
complaint, while he is conscious that the all- 
seeing eye of his Maker is upon him, and feels 
as if the space were narrow between him and 
his Judge. 

No difficulty ought to arise in our minds 
from our notions of the Trinity. The Scrip- 
tures have very distinctly made it our duty, 
in our private devotions, to address ourselves 
to Jesus Christ. And this, as I have before 
said, was a direction of his own. As our Me- 
diator and Advocate we approach to him. 
Thus there is no higher act of faith to which a 
believer can be called, than that of committing 
his departing soul to the care of his God: And 
the dying language of the first Christian Mar- 
tyr was, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit P.** 

Let me subjoin a few reflections respecting 
the exercise of prayer, which may possibly be 
of some assistance in that important duty: 

Endeavour to describe your personal 
trials and perplexities, token you come to a 
throne of grace. This practice, with that of 
confessing our sins, at the same time, recom- 

* Some judicious remarks on this subject may be found in "Owen's 
Cases of Conscience."— Discourse V. vol xvi. of his works. 



£36 LETTERS TO AN 

mended as it is by the examples of the saints, 
and enjoined as it is by the Word of God, has 
many advantages which may not, at first, oc- 
cur to the mind of the Inquirer. It is true, in- 
deed, that our Creator knows the extent and 
aggravations of our guilt, and the nature of our 
wants; but he requires us to know them like- 
wise. He is not ignorant of our necessities; 
but he would see us sensible of them ourselves. 
Now, the detail of these presupposes us to have 
examined our hearts, and to have formed at 
least some acquaintance with them. And this 
very act of narrating is admirably adapted to 
produce that humility of mind and temper, 
and that sense of dependence, without which we 
shall certainly plead in vain. The very recount- 
ing of our personal trials and difficulties brings 
us almost certainly nearer to Him to whom they 
are told; while it is suited to promote our faith 
and confidence in him. You have sometimes 
noted how clearly this is illustrated in a case of 
temporal suffering. The man who sits down 
to write an account of his distresses to one 
from whom relief is possible, not only dis- 
covers himself more sensible of his situation, 
and is more affected by it, in the engagement; 
but his hope of success in the application, and 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 237 

his expectations of sympathy, continue to in- 
crease. The direction of Jesus Christ, then, 
is founded in wisdom, and admirably fitted to 
our nature, when he bids us present all our 
cares^to him, and communicate all our wants. 

Endeavour to keep your attention as fixed 
as possible, while engaged in this exercise. 
There is no fault into which we more easily 
fall than that of a wandering of thought. Now, 
apart from the sinfulness of this, as the very 
essence of hypocrisy, it is likely to be followed 
by consequences to ourselves of the most dan- 
gerous character. Wandering thought in de- 
votion, of all other sins, most easily becomes a 
habit, by a partial indulgence; and it most 
unconsciously steals upon us. A single in- 
stance of this extends itself to our next effort. 
And the petitioner may find the unhappy pro- 
pensity almost be) ond the power or reach of 
his arrest. The best remedy, perhaps, for so 
insidious an evil, is that of uttering our 
thoughts aloud. The small degree of exertion 
which this requires, is well suited to the exi- 
gency of the case. It enforces attention; and 
prevents that distraction which external ob- 
jects so readily produce in the mind. It does 

more. It makes an impression which may be 
x2 



238 LETTERS TO AN 

durable after the act is over. A judicious 
friend who complained much of his temptation 
here, in seasons set apart for meditation, has 
since observed that he never failed to find 
"thinking aloud" an effectual means of pre- 
venting abstraction from the subject of his re- 
flections. 

Ripply special promises to special cases hi 
prayer. 1 have already hinted the importance 
of turning the precepts of God into prayer; 
and the duty of applying to ourselves what- 
ever Scriptural passages meet our condition. 
We should do the same with the promises of 
the Divine Word. There is something exceed- 
ingly encouraging in presenting the very words 
of Him who can aid us, at the throne of grace; 
and so far as they suit our condition we are 
warranted in doing so. There seems a special 
hope of a blessing in the very reflection that 
the same spirit which indited the language of 
Holy Writ, is said to assist the earnest and 
sincere petitioner.* You will no doubt recol- 
lect how common was the practice which I am 
commending among " good men of old." 
Jacob urged, for an important purpose, that 
Jehovah had bidden him leave his country and 

•Rom. via. 26. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 239 

kindred, and had given him assurance of se- 
curity.* Solomon presented the promise which 
had been made to his father David. t Jehosha- 
phat named that which had been given to Solo- 
mon. J Daniel reads the pledge to Jeremiah, 
and then applies it in his prayer. || The Apos- 
tle Paul embraces the promise which had been 
given to Joshua so long before, and makes it 
the ground of an unshaken confidence in his 
own day.§ And Simeon expired in the very 
arms of a gracious promise, with the breath- 
ings of prayer. IT And what an encouragement 
have we in the reflection that the special 
ground of an answer to prayer lies in the per- 
formance of promises. The faithfulness of 
God is our surety. 

Regard proper seasons of prayer. I do 
not mean, simply, that stated periods should 
be set apart for this purpose. It would al- 
ways be well to form and sustain a habit of 
this kind; the violation of which, especially 
where it is not necessary, has certainly an un- 
happy effect on our subsequent devotions. 
But there are seasons when the heart of the 
Inquirer, to use a strong figure, is full: when 

• Gen. xxxii. 9. t Kings, viii. 24. J 2 Chron. xx 8. I Dan. ix. 2, a 
5 Heb. xiii. 5, 6. * Luke, ii. 29. 



240 LETTERS TO AN 

his feelings are more tender, his desires more 
strong; and his sense both of his wants, and 
the nearness of his God, is more distinct. 
These should never be suffered to pass unim- 
proved. They are distinguished by signals 
for prayer: and its utterance would be more 
free, while its pleas would be more urgent, 
than at fixed and regular periods. I doubt 
whether there ever was a sincere Inquirer who 
was not sensible of this difference in the state 
of his feelings. The same susceptibility which 
exposes him to changes from trifles inimical 
to serious thought, prepares him for impres- 
sions of a different nature from more favoura- 
ble incidents. A passing word, or a petty cir- 
cumstance which had no direct reference to 
his state of mind, may sometimes produce a 
more powerful effect, in softening and subdu- 
ing the heart, than hours of sober reflection. 

I am aware that it may not always be con- 
venient to retire for the immediate improve- 
ment of such effects. But it would be well to 
sacrifice a less advantage for a greater; and to 
endeavour to improve as fully as possible, 
what may really be the operation of the Holy 
Ghost upon the mind. But where this is 
wholly impracticable, let ejaculatory prayer 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 241 

supply the place of more regular devotions. 
It is a delightful reflection that God is with 
us every where: and is every where ready to 
listen to the cry of the sincere penitent. Some 
of the most effectual prayers recorded in the 
Bible, are of an ejaculatory character. And 
the Saviour himself, to whom we offer our 
desires, has set us an eminent example. Nor 
indeed do I believe, — if it were right to insti- 
tute the comparison, — that the observance of 
set seasons for devotion so completely evinces 
a proper frame of mind — all important as it is 
— as an habitual readiness and disposition to 
earnest ejaculatory prayer. Here, too, the 
secular avocations of life can create no serious 
interruption. The heart may hold converse 
with God in the midst of the bustle and dis- 
tractions of the world. 

With respect to forms of prayer — they may 
sometimes be necessary; and the plea of indo- 
lence, or ignorance, or diffidence, is frequently 
preferred in their behalf. But 1 have always 
thought them unfavourable to the interest of 
the Inquirer. It would hardly be practicable 
for any man to form a prayer precisely suited 
to the state and exigences of another. Any 
such attempt would be defective in those par- 



242 



LETTERS TO AN 



ticulars which most nearly concern our pri- 
vate experience, and the description of which 
would require an intimate knowledge of our 
own case. Expressions, confessions and terms, 
are of necessity general; and do not reach far 
into the heart. And, independent of this, 
they, not unfrequently, create a wrong leaning 
of the mind; while they form a marked con- 
trast with that freshness of desire which springs 
warm from the bosom. 1 have said " a wrong 
leaning," — for all subjects of prayer do not 
closely fit the case of the Inquirer; and where 
they do not, they tend to increase his confu- 
sion and perplexity, however well indited 
they may be: An effect which he very fre- 
quently discovers in the devotions of the sanc- 
tuary. — The utter impossibility of suiting any 
public leading in prayer to the wants of all, 
and the duty of each presenting his own case, 
seems to have been referred to by Solomon at 
the dedication of the Temple — " what prayer 
and supplication soever be made by any man, 
or by all thy people Israel, which shall know 
every man the plague of his own heart, and 
spread forth his hands towards this house: then 
hear thou in Heaven thy dwelling place, and 
forgive and do, and give to every man accord- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 243 

ing to his ways, whose heart thou knowest; 
(for t hotly even thou only, knowest the 
hearts of all the children of men*) 

Advantageous as these set compositions may- 
be in certain instances, in public worship — and 
even then they require frequent alterations to 
suit the circumstances of the time and the age 
— they are not adapted to the private use of 
the Awakened Sinner. Besides — the very- 
attempt to express our own personal wants, 
not only gives us a clear insight into our- 
selves, and thus constitutes one of the means 
of promoting the great end in view, but it 
adds intensity to the sense of want and the 
feelings of desire, and leaves an impression 
which may be abiding and salutary. 

It does more: if the directions I have already- 
given be followed, the practice of extemporane- 
ous prayer will lead us to cultivate a familiar ac- 
quaintance with the Word of God. Habituate 
yourself, then, to the use of your own language; 
however feeble and incoherent you may deem 
it, the Great Hearer of prayer will never reject 
it on account of its verbal imperfections. 

You ask, whether God ever withholds his 
grace from the Inquirer in order to try him 

* 1 Kings, viii. 38, 39. 






244 LETTERS TO AN 

further, after he is already endued with a 
penitent and humble frame of feeling?" 
The whole tenour of my letters is against the 
affirmative of this question. But it may de- 
serve something more explicit: 

I have more than once known those in deep 
distress advised to persevere under the idea 
that the Dispenser of pardon may be testing 
their patience; or, in other words, waiting un- 
til they acquire this virtue, as a preliminary 
to the reward of acceptance. This is not only 
injudicious, but it is unscriptural. And, in- 
stead of proving an incentive to perseverance, 
as it is intended to be, it is discouraging in 
the extreme. The unregenerate sinner can 
achieve nothing to entitle him to favour: And 
there is no intermediate state, in which he can 
ever be supposed, between ruin and grace. 
Nor can any withholding, on the part of God, 
when the sinner approaches aright, detain him 
in the former of these conditions. If it were 
otherwise, and we were allowed a supposition 
on this subject, then the death of the sinner, 
in that intermediate state, would leave the 
fault of his final rejection from Heaven at the 
door of the Author of his being. 

The examples which you have quoted in 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 245 

" the Syrophenician woman/' " the importu- 
nate widow 7 ," and the " neighbour soliciting 
bread/" were never designed to encourage 
such a conclusion; nor have they any refer- 
ence whatever to the case. The trials which 
God may suffer his people to undergo, while 
he supports them at the same time, and im- 
proves some grace within them to their ulti- 
mate good, is no indication that he ever would 
stand back, a single moment from the peni- 
tent sinner. To require immediate and un- 
conditional submission on our own part, and 
to tender the promises in return, and then to 
delay their fulfilment, has never been the 
manner of the Divine dealing. The prayer of 
the true penitent is answered at once, although 
it may not be in a way perceptible to himself, 
nor with the immediate consequences to his 
own mind, which he had fondly anticipated. 
We must learn to distinguish between the 
manner and the thing: between an utter re- 
fusal and the mode of conferring the boon. I 
should not hesitate to say to any complainer 
on this subject, that either his prayer was al- 
ready answered, or the fault was entirely his 
own. Nor can we escape this inference while 

we consider the Creator consistent with him- 
y 



246 



LETTERS TO AN 



self. I can not, therefore, restrain an expres- 
sion of regret when 1 read a contrary senti- 
ment in works expressly designed to relieve 
or assist the Inquirer. Any question of this 
nature seems so clearly and unequivocally set- 
tled in the Word of God, that it is a matter of 
surprise how it should involve a doubt in any 
other mind, than one harrassed by its fears, 
and confused by its perplexities. 

Adieu, Dear Sir — ■ — may the spirit of prayer 
richly abound in you, and may you realize, in 
its exercise, the full assurance of grace, mercy, 

and peace! 

Truly yours, &c. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 247 



LETTER XII. 



A common error adverted to again— An evil from Theological distinctions 
— Different kinds of repentance — The Scriptural distinction — Sorrow 
does not constitute repentance— The perversion of 1 egal sorrow to a false 
hope— Examples — The error reproved in Scripture— Its cause— Causes 
leading to repentance — Conviction of sin— Why not to be effected with- 
out Divine aid — Looking to Christ a means of repentance — The process 
—Evangelical sorrow follows— Difference between counterfeit and true 
repentance— Conclusion. 



MY DEAR SIR, 

There is one error which I have had rea- 
son several times to mention, as possessing a 
more pervasive influence in the mind of the 
Inquirer than any other: I refer to the idea 
that there is a certain something to be ob- 
tained by him before he ventures to approach 
the Redeemer with the hope of mercy, or 
even the hope of an audience. And this error 
creeps into his very notion of the Christian 
graces. It puts a construction on the Divine 
language foreign from its true import, and ren- 
ders reflection upon it the means of increasing 
confusion. You have known the application 
of this remark to the duty and doctrine of re- 
pentance. And 1 have frequently seen the 



248 



LETTERS TO AN 



convinced sinner keeping aloof, and at least 
half satisfied with himself in doing so, until he 
may he ahle to ascertain whether he has evi- 
dence of true repentance; without which he 
would conceive all application nugatory, and 
accompanied with which he would be assured 
of a favourable answer. The amount of all 
which is, that he desires to be a Christian be- 
fore he asks the Divine influence, which is to 
render him such — that he would have evi- 
dence of being saved before he solicits sal- 
vation. This practical contradiction is too 
flagrant to need a comment. 

Another evil on this subject arises from 
those theological distinctions respecting the 
nature of this grace, with which the' Inquirer 
may often be more entertained than edified. 
A clear view of repentance, and of its place in 
the covenant of God," is certainly important. 
But the adoption of metaphysical distinctions, 
and a nice and accurate discrimination of the 
consecutive order of certain causes and effects, 
is rather an accomplishment in the Theologi- 
an, than ail advantage to the Inquirer. Instead 
of re/viewing the past to discover the evidence 
of a direct approach to repentance, or to in- 
stitute a comparison of such workings with 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 249 

other things, the only duty before you is to 
learn whether you have indeed repented. To 
assist you in this, I will reduce within the 
limits of a single letter, all that appears to me 
essential on the subject. 

Practical divines have divided repentance 
into three kinds: the first is called natural, 
and it is supposed to have no reference to re- 
wards or punishments; as w 7 hen a man of in- 
tegrity and honour regrets the commission of 
an act which violates the rules he had adopted 
for his own guidance, but without fearing, or 
thinking of, any consequences arising from the 
law of God. I will not stay to discuss the 
justness of this distinction. The second di- 
vision, is that of legal repentance, which is 
simply a regret of the commission of sin on 
account of its personal consequences in the 
penalty of a violated law. Different from this, 
evangelical repentance is both a principle and 
a habit, and belongs to the Christian alone, 
while it is accompanied with a class of feelings 
peculiar to itself. These 1 shall describe on 
another page of this sheet. 

There are two words in the Scriptures 
which our translators have rendered by the 
y2 



250 LETTERS TO AN 

term repentance.* The first of these signifies 
*? after reflection," or, " after care, and anxi- 
ety." It indicates a simple alteration of feel- 
ing, — sorrow on account of something that 
has taken place on our own part, without any 
reference to the nature of that sorrow, or its 
durability; and without any connexion with 
the moral character of the act, or its eternal 
consequences. You have an example of this 
in the man who has expended time or money 
in a deed of benevolence, and regrets having 
done so. 

The second word, which is literally trans- 
lated, " a change of mind," is designed to de- 
signate an alteration for the better, and refers 
to the purposes and dispositions of the heart. 
It indicates not only sorrow for the past, but 
such a radical change in the affections as to 
create a permanent abhorrence of the evil. In 
2 Corinthians vii. 10, you will find both these 
words in the original Greek, with the con- 
structions now assigned them. 

If I were to select the mistake most common 
to Inquirers on this subject, I should certainly 
point to the impression that sorrow consti- 
tutes repentance, and that its intensity is the 

* MiTflt/AgAWfiC and MiTAVQia, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 



251 



test of sincerity. And it is this idea which 
frequently leads the Inquirer to exertion to 
deepen his grief, without examining its cha- 
racter or its cause. Mere sorrow, without 
reference to these, may he very distinct from 
the grace in question. Judas exhihited this; 
and according to the first sense of the word, 
repented of his sin; hut the feeling terminated 
in suicide. The Jews, on the day of Pente- 
cost, were in deep sorrow when they cried 
out " men and brethren, what shall we do?" 
The answer of Peter directed them to repen- 
tance. But the distinction is not less marked 
in the words of another Apostle — " Godly 
sorrow worketh repentance" — and therefore, 
however conducive to such an end, is not that 
end itself; and yet the distress of thousands 
under serious impressions, is very far from 
reaching to Godly sorrow. 

1 have seen an unprofitable grief in more 
than one practical form, — for the natural tem- 
per and disposition will always vary the form; 
and not rarely has it lead to a ruin of the 
spiritual interests of the soul. 

A friend of mine, whose conscience the Word 
of God had reached, in one of its ministrations, 
was seized, from the first moment, with a hor- 



252 LETTERS TO AN 

ror of apprehension which no argument could 
allay. Every countenance which he saw re- 
called some bitter recollections; every new to- 
pic of conversation, or subject of thought, pre- 
sented new causes of self reproach. His feelings 
were wrought up to an agony which threaten- 
ed his reason; and he presented a living specta- 
cle of the picture painted by a poet's fancy: 

" So writhes the mind remorse hath riven : 
Unfit for earth, undoomed for Heaven : 
Darkness above — Despair beneath. 
Around it flame— within it death." 

But what was the consequence of all this ? — 
The pity and sympathy which such a distress- 
ing case produced in the hearts of others, — and 
which were often most injudiciously express- 
ed — paradoxical as it may seem, led to similar 
sensations in his own bosom, and in behalf of 
his own condition. He appeared to have se- 
parated his sad state of mind from himself; and 
after then viewing it as a proper object of com- 
passion, he very naturally concluded that God 
did the same: and gradually assumed the hope 
of mercy, without — we have reason to fear, — 
a single just ground, or a single evidence of a 
truly penitent disposition. 

To one who has not examined the workings 



ANXIOtTS INQUIRER. 



253 



of the heart, it may appear surprising; that the 
sufferer can so abstractedly view his sorrow as 
apart from himself, and literally feel a sympa- 
thy for it, as if it were the lot of another. But 
no one who has endured a pungency of grief for 
a length of time, and has taken the pains to ana-? 
lize his feelings, will fail to discover this reac- 
tion. And the tenderness and softness of the 
feeling which then ensues, may very easily be 
mistaken for a change in the bent and disposi- 
tion of the mind and the heart. The Inquirer 
— if we might still call him so — is contented 
with this effect. He looks away from those 
tests, which on a careless survey, would have 
proved him wanting in -spiritual taste and de- 
sires. 

There is another appearance of this sorrow 
which is still more imposing, and which is very 
naturally produced in certain physical constitu- 
tions that bend, like the willow, to the earth, 
whenever the storm of affliction is severe. — 

P r was one of this description. The ver\ 

first sense of his sinfulness appeared to give a 
meekness and gentleness to his spirit; very far 
from that boisterous effusion of grief, which 
either expends itself soon by its violence, and 
leaves a suspicious calm after its departure; or 



354 LETTERS TO AN 

else gives place to'the reaction, which is equal- 
ly fatal. The spirit of P — r acquired an ap- 
parent placidness, while it drooped under re- 
flections that mortified his pride, and produced 
a conscious hopelessness within him. It 
bowed to the stroke of sorrow, as if it courted 
the blow, and as if a given number of the 
strokes were to complete the measure of his 
suffering. It was a fancied martyrdom, in 
which he anticipated the sacrifice of his pas- 
sions; or a fiery ordeal in which his evil pro- 
pensities were to be consumed,— and the proof 
of his success, to be in the patience and submis- 
sion of his temper. Neither cause nor effect in 
all this was understood-. And he looked for all 
that result which is to be produced by the Holy 
Ghost upon the heart, as an issue which is to 
be completed by the simple process of a de- 
pressing sorrow. And as might be expected 
in such a case, his only complaint was, that his 
grief was not sufficiently pungent: While 
from every source from which it was possible 
to derive bitter recollections, he endeavoured 
to collect new habiliments of mourning, and 
new means of mental depression. His labour 
was not in vain. He succeeded in forming a 
despondency, accompanied with all that suavi- 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 255 

ty which renders it attractive, and that self-per- 
suasion of humility which so readily follows it, 
without a single idea of the loathsomeness of 
sin, or of the nature of evangelical repentance. 
But whatever be the form of this fictitious 
grief, it is severely reproved by the Word of 
God. In the message which he sent by his 
prophet Isaiah, he asks of those who had fallen 
into this mistake — " Is it such a fast that I have 
chosen? a day for a man to afflict his soul ? Is 
it to bow down his head as a bulrush, and to 
spread sackcloth and ashes under him ?• Wilt 
thou call this a fast, and an acceptable day to 
the Lord ? Is not this the fast that 1 have cho- 
sen ? to loose the bands of wickedness, &c."* 
And a verse which follows, beautifully de- 
scribes the effect of the Divine blessing on the 
mind of the sincere penitent; who to a convic- 
tion of sin adds a discharge of duty, and a faith- 
ful obedience to the Will of God, while a sense 
of darkness has humbled and dejected his soul 
— " Then shall thy light break forth as the 
morning, and thine health shall spring forth 
speedily; and thy righteousness shall go before 
thee: the glory of the Lord shall be thy re- 
ward. " 

* Isa. lviii. 5—7. 



256 LETTERS TO AN 

The error in both the preceding cases, as 
well as in many others, consists in attributing 
to nature what is the work of the Spirit alone. 
It was the promise of God that his Son should 
be " exalted to be a prince and a Saviour, to 
give repentance to Israel." The gift is from 
on High; while the means which are used to 
bring it into exercise, are invariable the same. 
Let. us examine these: 

The first is, a true conviction: or sense of 
guilt. There is something in our natural con- 
si it ut ion which renders supernatural aid indis- 
pensable, to produce, such an effect. That in- 
herent selfishness which blinds us to the truth, 
and leads us even to hope for the best, while it 
palliates and excuses the evil that is visible, 
can be restrained by none but a Divine pcwer. 
You have seen its effects, in another shape, in 
cases of daily occurrence. The culprit in a ci- 
vil court, whom an enlightened jury have con- 
demned, and whom every auditor at the trial 
concurs in pronouncing guilty, sees a variety 
of causes in the manner and circumstances of 
the offence — in the temptation which lead to it 
— and in his own passions — to mitigate the 
crime, for which he is to pay the penalty of a 
violated law. His guilt indeed is proved, and 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 



257 



he may not be disposed to deny it. Still you 
can not convince him that there are not cir- 
cumstances which entitle him to the considera- 
tion of mere} 7 . And if such be his impressions, 
it is very certain that he has not a fair view of 
his own case. 

Of a similar nature are the impressions of an 
unrenewed sinner. He may be assured of his 
doom; and he may agonize under a conscious- 
ness of approaching wrath; and he may believe 
that the woe which awaits, him is the conse- 
quence of his guilt. But, still, he secretly be- 
lieves that there is no proportion between the 
evil and its punishment. He is not persuaded 
that, in his own instance, " the judge of all the 
earth will do right" in his condemnation. Or 
if he openly admit the equity of his God, he 
fosters a latent hope, from the disparity of his 
guilt, — with all its supposed palliations,— -and 
the penalty of a broken law. 

Independent of this, there is, very often, a 
false view of the state of things between him 
and his God. He sees his Creator in the light 
— not of one pure and holy, and hating iniqui- 
ty, and desiring that his creature should turn 
and live — but, as an inexorable judge — the se- 
vere and inflexible arbiter of his fate. All this, 
z 



258 LETTERS TO AN 

accompanied as it may be with dreadful appre- 
hensions — is a most imperfect view of the state 
of his soul's affairs. He forgets that the sepa- 
ration between the soul and its God, with all 
that makes up the torments of Tophet, is not 
simply the result of crimes that are past. It is 
a necessary attendant on the state of the sin- 
ner. It is not merely that God hates him as a 
transgressor; but he hates his God. — There is an 
active hostility against his Maker, which is not 
always brought into visible play, and w r hich he 
attempts to conceal from his own sight. And 
it is the cherished ignorance or forgetfulness of 
this, which constitutes his first serious difficul- 
ty. And it is the full discovery of this which 
forms the climax of a state of horror, to which 
the mind is sometimes brought — presenting a 
faint, yet awful exhibition of the condition of 
lost spirits. 

An example of all this fearfuiness I will re- 
member; 

A received no very deep wound in his 

first discovery of danger. There was even a 
kind of pleasure attending that discovery, aris- 
ing from a sanguine expectation, that pardon 
and mercy were at no great interval of space 
from his present condition. Baffled hopes led 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 



259 



to more serious efforts to learn more of himself. 
A further development of his guilt daily in- 
creased his consciousness of a nearing doom. 
In this his thoughts became absorbed. A con- 
tinued failure augmented his distress, while it 
brought into action a bitterness of feeling whol- 
ly in contrast with what had appeared to be 
his natural character. From secret accusation 
of his Maker, he proceeded to more explicit re- 
flections against the Divine Being. Even ma- 
lignity was embodied in language which would 
shock the ears of the respecter of religion. 
Pride, disappointed hope, and a galling sense of 
utter inability to help himself, were visible to- 
gether in the expressions w T hich fell from his 
lips. " I see my wretchedness" — said he, on 
one occasion, when both manner and tone in- 
dicated the strong conflict of passions within — 
" and God sees it too. He who alone could 
help me is arrayed against me. There is no es- 
cape. No power can withstand him. Hell is 
before me — Would that no God existed — or 
that he were other than he is!" — There was 
something so blasphemous in all this, that one 
would be disposed to question the sanity of the 
utterer. But there was no reason for such a 
doubt. The example may not be common. 



260 LETTERS TO AN 

But no example of the complete and open act- 
ing out of a principle is common. Its opera- 
tion may be comparatively silent, and still 
equally effective. Where true repentance is 
wanting, there may be a feeling of desolation in 
sight of sin; and a conciouness of awaiting 
wrath; but a right understanding of the nature 
of sin itself, or of its extent, can not exist. In 
the meanwhile, there is an aversion from our 
Judge — a repugnance to the plan of his dealing, 
often in exact proportion to our discoveries. 
" Where, then, is the fault?" — You would 
ask: " Why do not such discoveries lead to a 
happy issue ?" I answer, because they are par- 
tial: and they must ever be so while repen- 
tance is wanting. Their imperfection arises 
from looking at a wrong object. The broadest 
survey we can take from the light of the law 
alone, will effect no good end. — It will only 
lead to a horror of mind, while it will awaken 
the enmity of the heart. The difference be- 
tween the sinner here and in the world of de- 
spair, is, that this is the only discovery the lat- 
ter can ever make in the abode of the lost; 
whereas the former may take such a view of 
sin as will lead him to repentance. 
This remark brings me to the second cause, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 261 

or more properly, the true source of repen- 
tance: 

In the spirit of prophecy, in which the pro- 
mise of redemption was given, and that of the 
remission of sins, it was said — " they shall 
look upon me whom they have pierced, and 
they shall mourn."* Here is an emphatic de- 
scription of the origin, and attendant feelings, of 
true repentance. Until the mind is turned 
aw r ay from considerations merely collateral, or 
reflections of mere selfishness, and becomes, 
in some measure, fixed on the great sacrifice 
for sin, every feeling will continue unavailing 
and unacceptable to God. But let us suppose 
the direction of mind to be right and decided; 
The sinner looks to the great sacrifice for sin: 
He beholds the immensity of the offering, and 
the corresponding infinity of guilt for w T hich it 
was made. He marks well the love which 
paid such a price for the redemption of the 
transgressor. His heart is penetrated with a 
sense of his past ingratitude. He is astonished 
as he traces the previous current of his affec- 
tions. Every gaze deepens emotions which 
produce an effect upon every faculty of his 
mind. His understanding embraces momen- 

* Zech. xii. 10, 

z 2 



262 LETTERS TO AN 

tous truths which had been far in the back 
ground. In the Eastern imagery, adopted by 
the penitent Ephraim, he is ready to exclaim 
— " Surely after that 1 was turned I repented; 
and after that I was instructed, I smote upon 
my thigh; I was ashamed, yea, even confound- 
ed!" In the meanwhile an insight into the 
purity of the Divine character puts into his 
mouth the exclamation of the Patriarch of old 
— " I have heard of thee by the hearing of the 
ear, but now mine eye seeth thee, wherefore I 
abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes." 

One other consideration stands prominently 
out, and flings its light upon the past and the 
present: It is the self accusing thought that he 
whom we have offended, and whose justice 
might have struck us down, pays the vast de- 
mand of that attribute, and bids us repose, 
with confidence, in the arms of his love. Here 
is an appeal to one of the most powerful prin- 
ciples of the human heart: 

I will suppose you to have exercised a series 
of systematic efforts against the interests of an 
acquaintance; and that the origin of them all 
was in the gratification of your own selfishness, 
with a perfect recklessness of the issue. I will 
suppose that after a lapse of time, you have 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 263 

discovered that this acquaintance, although 
aware of the inimical part you were acting, 
was engaged all that time in endeavouring to 
promote your own weal, and now, that ruin 
followed your deportment of evil, he stood be- 
tween you and destruction. Would you not 
be confounded by the contrast between your 
own selfishness, and his disinterestedness — his 
love and your own malignity? And would 
not this be accompanied with an utter detesta- 
tion of your own conduct ? It is sometimes 
said that there is a principle within the human 
breast which indisposes us to love those whom 
we have wronged: and that in proportion to 
the injuries we have inflicted, we kindle an 
animosity in our own bosoms against their ob- 
ject. For the present admit this. Does not 
this hatred arise from a belief that a corres- 
ponding animosity exists in the bosom of the 
injured party ? — a belief that discredits or sus- 
pects all manifestations of good-will. And is 
it not connected with a dread of that humiliat- 
ing feeling which arises in a proud mind, on 
the conferment of favours by an enemy? But 
suppose the criminal in this case, to be fully con- 
vinced, on reflection, that all the good he receiv- 
ed, emanated from pure disinterestedness; and 



264 LETTERS TO AN 

that his benefactor was prepared and able, to 
bury deep in oblivion all that was past — an effect 
not always easily conceived in human affairs- 
might we not look for something of a practical 
and affecting character in the result? Now, 
the sinner has been sustained by an Almighty 
arm, through the course of his rebellion: and 
yet benevolence has followed him on. If he 
weigh the consequences of his past life with all 
this in view, he may be agitated in the survey; 
but the sight of God out of Christ will do more 
than reduce him to despair. The very mer* 
eies and long suffering of which he has been the 
subject, will increase his hatred of his Ma- 
ker, because they increase his condemnation. 
Change, then, the spectacle before him. Let 
the Saviour appear in the character in which 
the scriptures present him; and you can easily 
conceive how the enlightening of his under- 
standing has given a new aspect to his condi- 
tion and to every thing around him. 

In this view of the matter before us there 
must be an apprehension and comprehension of 
the Redeemer, or of the divine mercy through 
him. And it is to such an end that Jesus 
Christ is represented as " set forth, or exhibit- 
ed," propitiation through faith in his blood. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 265 

Faith, then, in the order of its agency, precedes 
repentance. The latter grace is certainly high- 
ly acceptable to God; " but without faith it is 
impossible to please him." It is some sense, 
at least, of our personal concern in the great 
matter of salvation, which leads to repentance. 
Now the sole or essential difference between a 
false and true faith consists in the object. The 
careless sinner will tell us that he believes in 
Jesus Christ; but he has no defined idea of the 
object of true faith, because he has no feeling or 
personal interest in it. And therefore, neither 
this grace, nor any of its effects, can be pro- 
duced in his heart. 

If, then, a right comprehension of Jesus 
Christ is the true source of repentance, you will 
easily judge of the species of sorrow which ac- 
companies it. And, in the converse of this, 
you will see why legal conviction of sin will be 
of no avail itself; while it is transitory in its na- 
ture; and while the sufferings it produces so 
readily end in a calm which may be mistaken 
for the new-birth, although it may be the inci- 
pient chilling of the second death. It is the re- 
pentance of one who does not believe. 

You observe, too, that evangelical, or God- 
ly sorrow, can not be a temporary effusion. 



266 LETTERS TO AN 

The waters of the smitten rock will accompa- 
ny the believer through his pilgrimage. Its 
source is far higher than that of an earthly- 
grief. It may not exhibit the same intensity 
of emotion: but the most durable grief that ev- 
er occupies the bosom is, most usually, silent. 
Its progress, though noiseless, is like the cur- 
rent of deep waters, regular and irresistible. 
It is, like a living stream, active and effective; 
not stagnant and still, diffusing the vapours of 
death around it. 

Nor is true mourning for sin confined to 
the neighbourhood of its first appearance. The 
evangelical penitent exclaims with the Psalm- 
ist — " rivers of water run down my eyes, be- 
cause, they keep not thy law."* The iniqui- 
ties of others are distressing to a mind which 
has ever fairly and fully contemplated the 
Cross. 

All this is the more obvious when you keep 
in mind the distinction that a counterfeit, or 
spurious repentance arises from terror; a pas- 
sion whose legitimate tendency is to banish 
love from the bosom, or rather to interdict its 
entrance there. Previous to the existence of 
this legal conviction, the sinner may have en- 

* Ps. cxix. 136. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 267 

tertained an idea of his God rather pleasant than 
otherwise. But it arose from that conception 
of the Divine mercy which rather encouraged 
than depressed his feelings of self-complacen- 
cy: this being removed, and a more full notion 
of justice coming into sight, an external obedi- 
ence commences from a principle of dread. It 
is the same restraint which is kept on the con- 
duct of the wolf by the nearness of the shep- 
herd. It is the same obedience which a re- 
fractory slave may observe, under fear of the 
lash of his master. Remove the apprehension 
of personal punishment, and the dominion of 
lust will be more powerful than ever. It will 
be found that the momentary check gives 
strength to desire, and passion unrestricted 
flows beyond its former bounds. And it is 
hence we often find the profligacy of those once 
awakened more inveterate and determined than 
it had been before. The sorrow had been, ra- 
ther that God hated sin so much, than that 
they had been guilty of it. 

On the contrary, true repentance springs from 
love to God, and a corresponding hatred of all 
that is unlike his holy character. To such a man 
it is not a subject of sorrow that the law is so 
holy, and its penalty so severe. He laments 



268 LETTERS TO AN 

that his nature has been in opposition to the 
sacred requirements, and that his inherent 
carnality is so much at variance with his spi- 
ritual desires. 

In the first case, aversion was created by the 
very effort to obey, and the distance between 
God and himself was accordingly widened. In 
the second, obedience is a means of keeping 
the affections nearer their object. 

Spurious repentance produces an imperfect 
effect upon the life. This is obvious from its 
very nature. As it does not arise from a just 
discovery of the evil of sin, and is not con- 
nected with an abhorrence of it, any change 
which may be produced is partial. It is true the 
subject may make certain sacrifices, in the omis- 
sion of certain practices, or in the discharge of 
certain duties: But without jealousy of self, 
which arises from an insight into his own 
heart: — without that law of love, which turns 
inclination to obedience, and puts the safest 
construction on the Divine commands — it is 
impossible that the reformation of life should 
be complete. If such a man do not content 
himself with obedience to certain require* 
ments which demand little self-denial, and 
consider this sufficient to cover his neglect 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 269 

of those which call for a greater sacrifice: — 
or if he do not play some other and equally 
compromising part; if he do not commit cer- 
tain evils, he will omit certain duties: if he be 
restrained from open transgression, he will 
cherish iniquities of the heart. The actings of 
his mind do not come under his careful inspec- 
tion. There is a light rein to the workings of 
a depraved fancy. There is no critical scrutiny 
of his motives. There is no inquiry into the ten- 
our of his desires. The want of substantial prin- 
ciple excludes all possibility of regular and per- 
manent benefit. — Even the external appearance 
of good may be temporary, irregular and fitful. 
Now it is the opposite of all this which takes place 
in a.mind renewed unto repentance in God. 

In the first of these cases there is no ground 
of humility, because here is no self-loathing, — 
no distressing sensation of the power of in- 
dwelling depravity. And the failure, there- 
fore, of an attempt to remove any evil is not a 
matter of great uneasiness: because, while it can 
be attributed to natural infirmity, he is satisfied 
in casting all the blame there, and acquires a 
feeling of self complacency in the act of doing 
so. To him there is here no additional reason 

for hating the dominion of sin. 
Aa2 



270 LETTERS TO AN 

The true penitent, on the contrary, exclaims 
with the Apostle on every such discovery — 
" Oh wretched man that I am, who shall de- 
liver me from the body of this death?" while 
he sinks into the dust of self abasement; and 
wonders at the extent of that grace which could 
pardon guilt of so deep a die. His faith, and 
repentance, and this knowledge of himself, 
constitute the true foundation of humility. 
Charity for the faults of others, and a love for 
those who bear the image of God, are insepara- 
ble accompaniments. So true is it, that where 
one genuine grace exists, the rest of the train 
will likewise be. 

I need not trespass further on your time by 
describing the fruits of repentance, as they 
are commonly called in the life of the penitent. 
The Apostle Paul seems to have summed up 
all these in a short sentence addressed to the 
Church of Corinth : " For behold this self same 
thing that ye sorrowed after a Godly sort, what 
carefulness is wrought in you, yea, what clear- 
ing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, 
what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, 
what zeal, yea, what revenge!"* 

You see, then, that he who inquires into the 

• 2 Cor. vii. 11. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 271 

meaning and character of true repentance, is 
looking for the evidence of a change of heart, 
and not for that which he is to find previous to 
his approach to God. 

Adieu, Dear Sir, may it be yours to "look 
unto Him," who in dying for our transgres- 
sions made more manifest our guilt, while he 
displayed the fullness of his mercy. 
Very truly yours. 



LETTER XIII. 

An Inquirer reviewing his past cares — A remarkable period in his life — 
The simplicity of faith-— A temptation to hold back from Christ— Natural 
incredulousness— The afflicted Father's application to Christ— The case 
applied to the Inquirer — The workings of the Inquirer's mind — His sur- 
render to Christ — The change— Difference in different cases— The act in 
which relief most commonly arrives — Not always the same — Vale- 
dictory. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

To him who entertains a hope that he has 
found the great object of his search, a review 
of his past solicitude, and of the fluctuations of 
his doubts and fears — comprising, as they do, 
a painful history — will end in astonishment at 
his own perverseness. This may not be equal- 
ly the case with all. But there will be few 



272 LETTERS TO AN 

who will not discover that much of their time 
has been expended in the removal of miscon- 
ceptions — in correcting errors — in looking for 
some new rules — in attempting to pry into the 
secret purposes of God — or to complete the 
work of the Saviour — in vain fancies of the fu- 
ture, or endeavouring to cultivate patience to 
wait for the gift of faith. A retrospect of past 
life, in its ordinary details, presents a melan- 
choly group of circumstances to most of us. 
But a review of the season of conviction of sin, 
and the application for mercy, brings before us 
a crowd of distressing images. We are as- 
tonished at an infatuation so visible in our pre- 
sent state of mind, and at our great ignorance 
of things which now appear so perfectly plain. 
But, above all, we wonder at our rejection of 
knowledge, or our misapplication of it; and 
at our obstinate efforts to render intricate and 
complex, what was distinguished by its sim- 
. plicity. It is now, for the first time, we un- 
derstand the spirit of the Syrian general's re- 
ply to the prophet — "Are not Abana and 
Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the 
waters of Israel ?" And the force of his ser- 
vant's answer, " My father, if the Prophet had 
bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 273 

not have done it? how much rather then, when 
he saith to thee, wash and be clean ?" 

But there may be a period in our history, 
reached before this, when we are able to look 
back, and retrace the relinquishment — the re- 
luctant relinquishment of one point after ano- 
ther, and find ourselves wholly unable to dis- 
tinguish a single remaining impediment visible 
near us: and yet still nothing of a distinctive 
character on which to rest a wearied and dis- 
consolate mind: the past a painful survey: the 
future blank 

"Poor child of doubt and death, whose hope was built on reeds !" 

A state such as this, seems something like a 
pause in the moral career of the subject. There 
is an eventful silence, in which the exhausted 
passions seek a respite from their toil, and the 
flagging spirits, wearied by their excitement, 
sink into the languor of despondency. Or, if 
no such marked effect succeed the restlessness 
and chafing of the Inquirer, after he has at last 
seen all hindrances to his salvation resolved 
into his own fault, and his artificial resources 
from pain removed — there is most usually still 
a momentary calm broken by a voice that an- 
nounces a partial possession of the very boon 
Aa2 



274 LETTERS TO AN 

that is sought — "I would believe!" Faith, 
that wonderful and mysterious principle, re- 
lative to which so many surmises had existed, 
and which had appeared so indefinable, begins, 
perhaps insensibly, its operations in the soul. 
The Inquirer ascertains that the difficulty of 
explaining the meaning of the term consisted 
in its very simplicity. And he may be as- 
tonished in finding himself in the partial exer- 
cise of a grace, relative to the distinctions of 
which he had so much perplexed his mind. 
And he easily sees how it is, that many who 
are illiterate and ignorant, and who have not 
lingered on the way in pursuit of meanings 
and distinctions, more readily lay hold of the 
hope of salvation than some whose knowledge 
is greater, and whose understandings have been 
better enlightened. He sees, on the one hand, 
the hopelessness of his condition, as it is by na- 
ture; and, on the other, the suitableness of the 
Divine promises to all the circumstances of his 
case. It is a comparison, such as this, which 
fits his mind for the exercise of belief. The 
particular character of his present state assists 
him in interpreting the Gospel plan, while he 
beholds its adaptation to his own wants; and an 
examination into this plan, again, — briefly and 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 275 

imperfectly as it may be done — corrects and 
illustrates his conceptions of his own condition. 
He may be hardly sensible of the process of 
such a comparison; nor perhaps is he often so. 
Nor would it probably occur to him that the 
degree of his faith will be according to the ex- 
tent of the truth which becomes visible to him; 
or that faith itself may not always correspond 
with the evidence of the truth, but will depend 
on the manner in which that truth affects the 
mind. He has neither disposition nor power, 
in a crisis which has enlisted into action every 
feeling of his heart, as well as every faculty of 
his mind, to watch a process by which the 
Holy Spirit commences a work of grace with- 
in him. It is enough that the wretchedness of 
his natural state is itself complete, and that the 
tenders of the Lord Jesus Christ are exactly 
suited to the exigencies of his own soul. 

It is this survey which gives him confidence 
to cast the whole weight of his spirit on the 
Redeemer, and to say, with the Christian 
poet 

" A guilty, weak, and helpless worm 
On thy kind arms I fall ; 
Be thou my strength and righteousness, 
My Jesus, and my all." 

It is indeed true that the Inquirer may be 



276 LETTERS TO AN 

tempted to hold back from a full confidence in 
Christ, — a consequence of some idea of the 
glory of the object sought, contrasted with his 
own unworthiness. And another case, much 
resembling this, is not uncommon. The awak- 
ened sinner who has seen the ordinary obstruc- 
tions to his faith vanishing one by one, and 
who has a partial glimpse of the excellency of 
Divine grace, may be induced to retreat from 
it, by that infidelity which is natural to some 
minds, on the first receipt of happy intelli- 
gence. I have somewhere said that you must 
have witnessed a diversity of effects from the 
same intelligence on different dispositions. 
One may drink in the information with eager- 
ness and implicit credulity: another will avow 
his doubts at once, for no other reason than 
that it is u too good news to be true." And 
thus may it be with the Inquirer in the pre- 
sent case. He can not believe; not because 
his sins are too great to be pardoned; for he 
may not doubt the sufficiency of the atone- 
ment; and he may see that honour would ac- 
crue to the Redeemer, from the recovery of 
the vilest sinner. But he can not lay hold of 
a truth, whose personal application to himself 
is to produce so amazing an alteration in his 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 277 

present and eternal condition. And indeed 
the same feeling may sometimes, and to some 
extent exist in the mind of the Christian him- 
self. There may be a time, when his views of 
the glory of the redeemed, and of the value of 
redemption may, so far overwhelm him with 
a sense of their grandeur and excellence, as to 
institute a doubt whether he can be a partaker. 
The happy fate of others he does not question; 
but his own he does not admit. 

The fault here consists in an imperfect view 
of the subject. He distinguishes one part of it, 
while another is hardly visible. The provi- 
sions of the Gospel are discerned; but their 
exact fitness to his own case is overlooked. 
The possibility of mercy is acknowledged; but 
its appropriateness to a state obviously his own, 
is not recollected. Here, and in any other in- 
stance in which a part of the character or de- 
sign of redemption is forgotten, there is a 
strong temptation to incredulousness. When 
the Inquirer then, is sometimes induced to 
stand aloof from the offer of grace, and to ex- 
claim — " the gift seems too great forme — I 
can not believe that so much favour can be 
mine," his comprehension of the subject on 
which he is occupied is imperfect. 



278 LETTERS TO AN 

Or, there may be another reason for such an 
expression. There may be a self deception of 
which he is not aware. He may be nurturing 
a false humility which he secretly deems ac- 
ceptable, if not pleasing, to God: and for which 
he looks for a proportionate reward. He for- 
gets that it is dishonourable to his Maker to dis- 
credit the offers on which the Divine veracity 
is staked; and that, while he considers his diffi- 
dence a virtue, it is challenging the truth of 
Jehovah. 

Where there was more real candour to itself, 
I have sometimes watched the workings of a 
mind, whose changes were almost distinctly vi- 
sible, and which after all its false reasonings, 
had seen the necessity and duty of an imme- 
diate and implicit reliance on Jesus Christ. 
And I have thought how strong a resemblance 
there was between such a case, and that of the 
petitioner who said — " I believe, help my un- 
belief."* You remember the story well. The 
afflicted man had said — " if thou canst do any 
thing:" The Saviour replies, "if thou canst 
believe, all things are possible to him that be- 
lieveth:" in other words, the hindrance con- 
sisted in the weakness of faith on the part of the 

' Mark, ix. 23, 24. 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 279 

applicant, and not in the difficulty in the case 
itself. A distinction of which we are too apt 
to lose sight. The anxious parent receives the 
reproof, and acknowledges its justice; while, at 
the same time he lays hold of the encourage- 
ment which the language of the Saviour was 
designed to convey, and exclaims in the words 
we have quoted. Here was still an obvious im- 
perfection on the part of the applicant. He ad- 
mitted that Christ was the Son of God; and 
while he considered him the last hope, the in- 
veteracy of his child's disease staggered any 
confidence he would have reposed in his mira- 
culous power. Of this imperfection he seems 
to have been sensible. And with the emotion 
of a bosom, the seat of a struggle between hope 
and fear, he asks assistance to his wavering 
mind: and asks it with tears. The very act of 
his prayer evinced some confidence in the Son 
of God, while it displayed a sense of tempta- 
tion to distrust. Acceptable prayer implies 
some degree of faith, even though the subject 
of that prayer be faith itself. And in this in- 
stance, the applicant indicates his belief in the 
power and sufficiency of Christ, while he asks 
for assistance to his unbelief. And he did what 



280 LETTERS TO AN 

the disciples had done before him^ when they 
said — "Lord, increase our faith !" 

It is thus the awakened sinner, in sight of 
his lost condition, in view of the sufficiency of 
Jesus Christ, and of his own natural infidelity, 
cries, "help my unbelief !" It is the cry of a 
burdened soul, attempting to rest the weight of 
his cares oh the Saviour, — seeking assistance 
to do so — and complaining of the hardness of a 
heart which weakens his confidence. The 
light which pours into his mind in this effort, 
discovers more fully the depravity he laments, 
while it reveals to a greater extent, the induce- 
ments to an unconditional surrender of his 
whole affections. There is, probably, not a 
single prayer adopted by successful Inquirers 
more general than this: Nor one, if this a~ise 
from the heart, more frequently the immediate 
precursor of a sensible change. 1 have often 
thought the whole story itself one of the most 
applicable to the present subject. 

If I were to attempt to describe the work- 
ings of the Inquirer's mind, when near to this 
happy issue, I should certainly derive that de- 
scription from the discoveries he makes of the 
Redeemer's character. He sees God, as mani- 
fested in his Son — justice, as satisfied by his 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 281 

death — mercy, as revealed through him. He 
reflects on the World, to form the best estimate 
of it, by contemplating Him who knew not 
where to lay his head: On death, to behold in 
Christ the resurrection and the life: On the 
judgment, to see the victim of Calvary the oc-. 
cupant of the throne. Nor is there any thing 
connected with the Divine plan of government; 
nor any thing with which the Christian has to 
do in the concerns of eternity, where the per- 
son and character of Jesus Christ do not hold 
the prominent place. All — every thing, is re- 
solved into matters belonging to the offices of 
the gracious Redeemer. And how effectually 
such meditations become the means of fasten- 
ing the attention on the Mediator and Advocate 
of sinners; and of imparting, although perhaps 
insensibly, a lively faith in his name. How 
difficulties vanish in such an engagement, and 
how freely the sinner exclaims in the first act 
of belief, 

"Jesus, I give myself away, 
'Tis all that I can do!" 

Happy moment! when a sense of ill-desert, 
of confidence in Christ, and grateful love, meet 
and blend together! 



282 LETTERS TO AN 

I am not sure that the particular manner, or 
feelings, with which the Inquirer first lays 
hold of the hope of salvation, differing as they 
do, in different persons, deserve much of your 
consideration: And yet it may not be amiss to 
say a few words on this subject. 

In some minds, there is a rapid, or even a 
sudden, transition, from a painful state of 
moral darkness, to a condition of light and 
comfort. During the act of prayer, or in some 
moment of meditation, the oppressive weight 
which had rested on the heart of the Inquirer, 
leaves him. His views of sovereign mercy 
are distinct and clear. A spirit of humble con- 
fidence takes possession of his bosom. His 
feelings consciously draw him to the contem- 
plation of the riches of grace. Hope flings its 
bright rays around him. Every thing appears 
changed. Every thing is new. A smile of 
heavenly cheerfulness plays on the very works 
of nature. A reconciled God shines in them 
all. And the gloom, which had so recently 
lowered over every object that met the eye, 
has passed away, like the morning cloud. The 
Inquirer is astonished at himself; astonished at 
a transition so utterly unaccountable, and un- 
expected. Whence this wonderful alteration 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 283 

in external things? The change is in his own 
mind, and not in them. Whence that disposi- 
tion to a full confidence in his Saviour, so dif- 
ferent from his late waverings and fears? He 
can not himself comprehend it; nor can he re- 
trace a single step to it. He can only say, like 
one restored of old, "whereas I was blind, 
now I see!" 

Oh, how different is all this from his former 
fanciful expectations! How unlike ail that 
imagination had figured! And how may it 
remind him of that memorable prophecy of a 
Saviour's power — " 1 will bring the blind by 
a w T ay that they knew not; I will lead them 
in paths that they have not known! I will 
make darkness light before them, and crooked 
tilings straight."* 

Wonderful, transforming influence! Mys- 
terious and silent agency ! And the subject of 
this astonishing change half questions a reality 
which his sober judgment on every appeal, 
confirms. He inquires of his own heart — " Is 
it that I have lost sight of my sinfulness — and 
that my forgetfulness of guilt has produced 
this peace from the contrast with its painful 
remembrance? No: Guilt never assumed a 

* Is. xlii. 16. 






284 LETTERS TO AN 

form so horrible before: sin was never so 
loathsome, and purity never so lovely. 1 
look back, to see the narrow plank over which 
I have passed, and I shudder at the yawning 
abyss below it. The moral atmosphere I 
breathe gives vigour to my exhausted spirit. 
My desires expand — My appetite craves a 

new sustenance for the soul. Tell me, 

is not this of God 7 

Memorable epoch ! memorable through eter- 
nity. It is the commencement of life: all be- 
fore it was the spectacle of putrefaction and 
death. 

But the moment, the hour, or the day, is 
far less marked in the experience of others. 
A more common case, perhaps, is that in 
which the light breaks on the understand- 
ing, like the gradual approach of the morning 
dawn: It was the prayer of the prostrate 
soul 

"Come, then, thou Crucified, my mourning thoughts 

Oh sanctify ! reveal thy bleeding form 

To me, miserable. Oh impart 

Thy mercy, while I seek — 

Thy presence. Lo, I come all penitent, 

Bowing to earth oppressed." 



And the petition flows with an earnestness 
and fervour hitherto unknown. No divine 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 285 

influence is imagined. And yet the petitioner 
is surprised at a new intensity of feeling; a 
freedom of utterance; a sweet and lovely calm, 
well marked in opposition to the experience 
of hours gone by. And yet still the mist is 
not completely scattered. The sensible alter- 
ation that exists is not sufficient to create a 
holy joy. Assurance is wanting. Desire is 
more importunate. And, in the sense of par- 
tial discovery, the Inquirer exclaims, like the 
blind man of Bethsaida, " I see men, as trees, 
walking/'* And it may be that another — or 
even another accession of light, is necessary to 
unfold, clearly, the object of a holy confidence: 
the march of the understanding and affections 
regular and steady onwards: and the progres- 
sive effects which succeed each other, give, in 
turn, additional reasons, for a complete trust 
in the promise of salvation. Reflections and 
comparison confirm that trust. And the re- 
covered soul advances, with certain pace, to 
the enjoyment of heavenly peace. 

But " he went his way rejoicing," is not to 
be told of all. There are those who, from 
reasons already assigned, never participate in 
the more elevated enjoyments which belong 

" Mark 3 viii. 24, 

Bb2 



286 LETTERS TO AN 

to the experience of others. A physical con- 
stitution naturally cold, or defective views, in 
some few particulars, may keep the mind in 
a degree of suspense, even through the re- 
mainder of life. But still the subject of our 
remarks, discovers a change within himself 
which is obviously from on high. The charms 
of the world have faded away:— Their insuf- 
ficiency and vanity are conspicuous to his 
sight. Sin assumes a greater and greater dis- 
gust of aspect. The value of the soul, and 
the mercies of Christ, are more distinctly dis- 
cerned. And if there be no ardour in his de- 
votions, it is not because his heart is else- 
where, for these furnish his dearest hours. If 
he can not "tune the enraptured lay;" and 
soar with a lighter and a freer spirit, there is 
a regularity in the movements of the soul. If 
the language of some of the songs of Zion is 
sometimes too high strung for the measure 
of his feelings, those feelings accord with its 
spirit still. He loves to contemplate what the 
redeemed admire, while he laments the op- 
pressive weight that restrains his flight. The 
world shall behold him the consistent Chris- 
tian. And his pursuits, in their seriousness 
and steadiness, shall tell the direction of his 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 287 

prevailing taste and desires. He recognizes a 
sustaining hand, that upholds him in his ways; 
but his faith furnishes no cup of positive de- 

light. 

Or there may be other gradations of feeling, 
somewhat different from either of these, aris- 
ing from the character of the mind, the cir- 
cumstances under which it acts, or the man- 
ner of the Divine influence. Yet all these 
variations are of secondary importance. It 
is enough that the heart is transferred from 
the world to God: that its affections have a 
new home. The degree of spiritual enjoy- 
ment is not the primary test of a renewed soul: 
And the measurement of its increase is not al- 
ways a profitable employment. 

Nor can the act by which consolation first 
comes to the mind be always distinguished as 
the same. Some passage of Scripture is fre- 
quently rendered the instrument of dispersing 
the surrounding gloom, and opening an avenue 
to hope. And yet that passage may have come 
unsought, and at a time when the thoughts had 
taken a different direction. Or, when despair 
has completely overwhelmed the soul, an un- 
expected relief may reach the sufferer without 



288 LETTERS TO AN 

distinguishable means, at the very moment in 
which a sense of his helplessness is most dis- 
tressing. 

I am confident that most Christians who can 
recur to the first day of relief — for all are by 
no means able to do so — date their change in 
the act of prayer, or in that of pondering the 
Divine Word. But the great Re-creator of 
hearts makes use of instruments which seemed 
to have no connexion with so important an 
end. An exemplary Christian, " whose praise 
is in all the churches," owed his first sense of 
a change to an ordinary incident of life: His 
child was engaged in reading aloud a portion 
of Grecian history. The father had been ob- 
sorbed in a melancholy review of his past life; 
and in a kind of vacant gaze on the dreariness 
of the present prospect; when his attention 
was awakened by the following anecdote: 

Alexander the Great had promised a cour- 
tier, who had rendered him some signal ser- 
vice, whatever reward he might ask. On the 
credit of this promise, the favourite drew an 
exorbitant order on the royal treasury. The 
Treasurer, astonished, took the order to his 
master. Alexander looked at it for a moment, 



ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 289 

and then said to the officer " This proves 

how generously my friend thinks of my love: 
He proportions his demand to his trust in my 

affection. Pay the amount/"' The train of 

reflections which succeeded in the mind of the 
Parent, began a new era in his life. "Have 
1" — thought he, — " been soliciting the friend 
of sinners, with a cherished doubt of his will- 
ingness to do all that he offers ? Have I inti- 
mated a discredit of his truth, who gave his 
life a ransom for the miserable? I will be- 
lieve. And his own goodness shall interpret 
my confidence." There may seem little con- 
nexion between the story and the results to 
which it led. But it is impossible to tell the 
associations to which any incident may carry 
us: or to augur those unaccountable evolutions 
of thought to which we are all accustomed. 
And w r e know how readily the mind brings, 
and appropriates to its favourite pursuit, all 
that passes before it. 

And now, Dear Sir, farewell! I take leave 
of this subject, after placing these hints in your 
hands, with an humble hope that the Great 
Hearer of prayer may sanctify my feeble ef- 
forts to relieve your anxiety: And with some 



290 LETTERS TO AN, ETC. 

confidence in commending you to Him who 
can say to your own soul, with the same pow- 
er with which he spake in the beginning of 
creation, — — " let there be light !" 
Very truly Yours. 



NEW WORKS, 

IN PRESS, 

BY KEY # BIDDLE 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, Esq..— Compiled 
from his correspondence and other authenticated sour- 
ces of information, containing 1 remarks on his writings, 
and on the peculiarities of his interesting character, 
never before published. By Thomas Taylor. 
Extract from the Preface. 

Many Lives of Cowper have already been published. 
Why then, it may be asked, add to their number? Sim- 
ply because in the opinion of competent judges, no me- 
moir of him has yet appeared that gives a full, fair, and 
unbiassed view of his character. 

It is remarked by Dr. Johnson, the poet's kinsman, 
in his preface to the two volumes of Cowper's Private 
Correspondence, " that Mr. Haley omitted the insertion 
of several interesting letters in his excellent Life of the 
poet out of kindness to his readers." In doing* this, how- 
ever amiable and considerate as his caution must appear, 
the gloominess which he has taken from the mind of 
Cowper, has the effect of involving his character in ob- 
scurity. 

In alluding to these suppressed letters, the late highly 
esteemed Leigh Richmond once emphatically remarked 
— " Cowper's character will never be clearly and satis- 
factorily understood without them, and should be per- 
mitted to exist for the demonstration of the case. I 
know the importance of it from numerous conversations 
I have had, both in England and Scotland, on this sub- 
ject. Persons of truly religious principles, as well as 
those of little or no religion at all, have greatly erred in 
their estimate of this great and good man." 

In this work all that is necessary and much that is 
painful to know, is told of Cowper, and well told too.— - 
His life was much wanted, and we have no doubt that it 
will be universally read and become, like the poems of 
the man it commemorates, a standard work. Mr. Tay- 



lor has our hearty thanks for having produced this work, 
and our commendations no less hearty for having pro- 
duced it so well. — Metropolitan, 

THE TESTIMONY OF NATURE AND REVE- 
LATION TO THE BEING AND PERFECTIONS 
OF GOD. By the Rev. Henry Fergus, Dumferline, 
Author of the History of the United States of America, 
till the termination of the War of Independence, in Lan- 
der's Cyclopedia. 

The following is from the Spectator, of April 20, 1833. 

The Rev. Mr. Fergus's Testimony of Nature and Re- 
velation to the Being, Perfection and Government of 
God, in an attempt to do in one volume what the Bridg- 
water Treatise are to do in eight. We wish one eighth 
of the reward only may make its way to Dunfermline. 
Mr. Fergus's Treatise goes over the whole ground with 
fervour and ability; it is an excellent volume, and may 
be had for somewhere about half the price of one Bridg- 
water octavo. 

THE HAPPINESS OF THE BLESSED, consider- 
ed as to the particulars of their state; their recognition 
of each other in that state; and its difference of degrees. 
To which are added, Musings on the Church and her 
services. By Richard Mant, D. D. M. R. I. A. Lord 
Bishop of Down and Connor. 

HARMONY OF THE FOUR GOSPELS, founded 
on the arrangement of the Harmonia Ev angelica. — 
By the Rev. Edward Greswall. With the practical re- 
flections of Dr. Doddridge: designed for the use of 
families and schools, and for private edification. By 
the Rev. E. Bickersteth, Rector of Walton Heth. 

All which are entitled to much commendation, as 
tending to familiarize the young student with the exact 
phraseology of the New Testament and calculated to 
recall it, in an agreeable way, to the memory of the 
more advanced Scholar. — Lit. Gazette. 

It possesses much substantive merit, and is the best 
Key to the Chronology of the Gospel History we have 
met with. — Mhenseum. 



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